


Eleni i Fuin: Stars and Shadows

by Ilya_Boltagon



Series: Peredhil [1]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Mind Games, Out of Body Experiences, Partial Mind Control, Possession, Supernatural events, comatose character, paralyzed character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-25
Updated: 2020-04-04
Packaged: 2020-05-19 16:19:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 43,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19360450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ilya_Boltagon/pseuds/Ilya_Boltagon
Summary: Young adolescent Arwen, innocently using abilities she has always had, but that she doesn't fully understand, unwittingly becomes a pawn for an evil far beyond her comprehension, putting herself, her home and family at great risk.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> In this AU, I gave Arwen abilities that she doesn't have in the books, because I've always thought that, even several generations later, the blood of a Maia would give gifts/power greater than most Elves have. Elrond (and the rest of the family) are likewise set apart from the other Eldar, but it's not as explicitly stated at first. 
> 
> Also, in this story, Elrond located Maglor near the end of the Second Age, he fought in the Last Alliance, returned to Rivendell afterwards, and has been there ever since, as part of Elrond's family. Because I hate the thought of him suffering alone, forever. He deserves more!
> 
> This is my first Tolkien story on this site, feedback is welcome.

Arwen stared in awe at the dazzling light that emanated from the Two Trees of Valinor, Laurelin and Teleperion. It truly did surpass the light of the Sun that had followed! The Trees had been destroyed for thousands of years before Arwen's Adar had even been born, of course, but Glorfindel, one of her Adar's advisors and warriors, dreamed of Valinor when the Trees still lived, and she could see their splendor as she walked where she would along the Path of Dreams. She had learned long ago that no-one else could do this, fall asleep and wander where they would into the dreams of others. Maybe it was wrong, intruding like that, but no-one ever knew she was there unless she wanted them to, and being able to see things from their pasts, things she would never see herself, was so _tempting_. And besides, the thirty-two year old Elfling told herself, as long as the sleeper didn't know she was there, what harm was there in looking? Leaving Glorfindel to reminisce, Arwen closed her eyes and 'listened'. That wasn't exactly what she was doing, reaching out and sensing who else was sleeping, but she didn't know of a more fitting word to describe her odd little gift.

Daerada Maglor was resting. Arwen hesitated. Sometimes his dreams were... not pleasant, and she didn't always like what she saw there. His dreams seemed to vary, and could alter mid-dream. He could be recalling his own youth in Valinor, with his mother and brothers, or recalling Adar and Uncle Elros when they'd been Elflings, then with little warning, the dream could shift to darker matters- battles, with corpses dotted everywhere, burning ships, blood being shed, Orcs, Wargs, Elves locked in combat with other Elves... She bit her lip, then 'stepped' in anyway. If Daerada had a bad dream again, she could simply leave.

 _Or you could simply change his dream, young one_. A deep, smooth, melancholy male Voice echoed over her, from nowhere, with no source, apparently. _Alter the vision he sees, show him what you wish him to see instead_.

Arwen blinked, a shiver running down her spine as she looked around. She still stood in the pearl-like mist that filled the landscape between dreams, and no-one was in sight. She'd never heard any voices on her dream-walks before... “W-who's there?”

_Only a friend, little bird. I am... a prisoner, and my voice is never heard any more. I have grown quite lonely over time, and would gladly impart knowledge in exchange for the company of such an enchanting young creature._

Arwen gulped. This didn't feel right, and she wasn't meant to speak with strangers, but... the Voice _did_ sound sad, and he said he wanted to teach her. That couldn't hurt anyone, could it? And if she learned to keep Daerada Maglor, and other people, from having nightmares, that was good, wasn't it? Besides, if she wasn't happy, she could just wake herself up. Nothing could go wrong in a dream. She glanced around, trying to see the speaker, with no success. “Where are you?” She frowned.

 _Bound elsewhere, little bird. I am afraid all I may do is speak with you at present. You will not be able to see me_. The Voice was full of sorrow now, and Arwen's eyes stung with tears. Trapped, and only able to talk to her, no-one else, ever? That was wrong.

“But-” Who or what could trap someone in dreams like that, and why would they have done so?

 _Hush. It is enough that someone hears me, at last. Now hearken. It is long since I had a pupil of any kind, let alone such a gifted one. There is much you must learn_.

Arwen felt a 'tug', and realized she was being led somewhere else, away from Daerada Maglor's dream. She paused, then followed. If Daerada did have a nightmare now, she couldn't help. But, after a few lessons from her new friend, who knew what she might be able to do to ease his suffering?

She bit her lip, then 'stepped' into the new dream, wondering where she would end up, and what the Voice was going to show her.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Arwen stepped into another dream, wondering where the Voice had led her. She seemed to be at home in Rivendell, on a bright sunny day. Hearing voices talking and laughing, she turned. Adar and Nana were sitting hand in hand by one of the fountains, surrounded by the family- including Arwen herself. She bit back a giggle: it was always odd to see herself represented in someone's dream when she truly stood there, unseen. Her brothers, Elladan and Elrohir, were here as well, along with Daerada Maglor, and Arwen's other grandparents, her naneth's parents, from Lothlorien. Dreams of the whole family together, well and happy, weren't unknown to Arwen, and she smiled. “Ada's dream.”

 _Yes, little bird,_  the Voice agreed. _A good place for your first lesson_.

Arwen didn't understand, but nodded, waiting for instruction, as she would in lessons with a tutor.

_Your father dreams of family and loved ones surrounding him, but do you not see that several are missing?_

Arwen blinked, looking at the gathered knot of people. Nana, Elladan and Elrohir, herself, Daerada Maglor, Nana's parents... “Who's missing? All the family Ada has is here.”

_All the family that remain, yes. But what of those that cannot be here? Those your father believes beyond his reach, lost to him? Do you not think he misses them?_

She blinked. “You mean... Uncle Elros?” There was no-one else in the family she could think of that she thought Ada would _want_ to see: not long ago, Earendil and Elwing's names had been mentioned, and Ada had not seemed pleased to even think of them.

 _Yes, of course. And do you not think of his birth parents?_  The Voice paused. _Elrond's foster-father sits among the family, despite all the sins he has committed, but your true grandparents are not missed at all. Is that not odd?_

“Yes, I suppose...” Arwen frowned. Ada did not like to speak of Earendil and Elwing, so perhaps she should not be speaking of this.

 _I meant no harm, little bird_. The Voice had softened now, becoming coaxing. _But would it not be well if your Adar could at least see his brother, and his birth parents, to truly complete the idyllic family he dreams of?_

Arwen smiled. Maybe that would be nice, just once, to have everyone together, but... “I don't know how to put other people into dreams. I can make myself appear, but that's all I can do.” She sighed. “And I don't even know what Uncle Elros and Elwing look like.” She _did_  have an image of Earendil in her mind, from a dream-walk she had slipped into about a week ago, where she had glimpsed him and his ship Vingilot, aloft in the night sky, but saw no reason to mention that.

 _I could show you, if you wish_ , the Voice offered. _Allow your father to have his entire family together, just once, in this fair dream_.

Well, what harm could it do? Arwen nodded, smiling once again. Three figures appeared in her mind: Earendil, a brown haired slender elleth she assumed must be Elwing, and a man who looked extremely like Adar, but _felt_  somehow different. Uncle Elros.

 _These images come from my memories. Keep them in your mind, little bird, and will them to appear in this dream_.

Arwen focused as the Voice counselled, feeling awed as three figures materialized and slowly walked to join the others gathered at the fountain. She watched as they drew closer to Ada, wanting to see how pleased he would be to have his entire family gathered, but before they reached him, she felt the strange tug on her again, and Ada's dream blurred out of focus.

“What are you doing?” She folded her arms, scowling, knowing it had to be the owner of the Voice pulling her away from this place. “I wanted to see them all together.”

 _Best not, little bird_. The Voice sounded almost chiding as the pearlescent mist replaced the courtyard of Rivendell. _Reunions such as this should be private, should they not? Besides, you expended a great deal of energy in conjuring memories into the dreams of another. You may not notice it immediately, but you will be tired when you awaken. Go now, recover. We will speak again soon, when you are strong enough._

That did make sense, but... “You said I am the only one who can hear you.” She bit her lip. “Won't you be lonely if I am gone for a while?” _And what if I cannot find you again?_  The thought of anyone trapped in the thick white mist of the Path of Dreams, alone, forever, made her eyes sting with tears. No-one deserved that!

The Voice chuckled softly. _So kind to me, little bird. It is touching, but I have been alone for a great while. I will be fine until you return. And when your strength is recovered, I will find you again, for another lesson, if you wish. But you must awaken now._

The mist swirled, engulfing Arwen, as it sometimes did near the end of her sleep. She struggled for an instant, feeling guilty at leaving the Voice alone, despite what he had said. Something huge and dark moved in the mist, and she squinted, trying to discern what it was- she rarely saw anything in the formless mist. It was gone in the next instant however, and her eyes shot open.

“Good afternoon.” Ada stood at the foot of her bed, smiling wryly.

Arwen sat up, her eyes heavy with weariness. Bright sunlight streamed into her room, and the canopy over her bed cast a dark shadow over her pillows. Maybe that was what had caused the dark shape to appear in the mist, before she woke, the real world beginning to encroach on her dream? “Good morning, Ada.” She yawned. “What time is it?”

“It is nearly noon, Undomiel.” Ada shook his head. “You would not be woken for breakfast, and you look exhausted still. Let me guess, you remained at your window all night, watching the stars, and forgot to actually sleep last night?”

Her face reddened. She did not want to lie to Ada, but he would never believe the truth, so, keeping her eyes down, she nodded. The Voice had been right about one thing, at least- she was so tired! But that proved it had been real, did it not? “I'm sorry, Ada. I will try not to do it again.” Looking more closely at him, she noticed Ada looked weary as well, his face drawn and wan, his lips curved down, as if he were fighting back sadness, and he had dark circles beneath his eyes. “Are you well, Ada?” This was not right, Ada was meant to have been happy, after she had placed all his family in his dream!

“Nothing for you to fret over, iell nin.” He half-smiled at her. “I had some... disquieting dreams, but they are nothing for you to concern yourself with.”

“But-” Disquieting dreams? That wasn't right! Ada was meant to have had a _good_  dream. Why hadn't it worked? Had she done something wrong?

“All is well, Arwen. Do not worry for me. Now, will you join us for the noon meal, or would you prefer to have something brought to your room?”

Arwen shook her head, then stretched. “I will join you. I've already slept half the day away, I will not waste any more time.”

Ada smiled. “Good girl. Lunch will be served in the dining room, in ten minutes. Join us when you are ready.”

Arwen nodded, then smiled until he left the room, then let her face fall into a frown. What had gone wrong in the dream, to make Ada look so pale and sad today? Had she made a mistake? Climbing out of bed, she clung to the bedpost as the room spun, breathing deeply until the sensation passed. The Voice had been telling the truth- making others appear in someone's dream really did take a lot of strength! Perhaps next time she spoke with him, he could explain what had happened, why Ada's dream had warped, and become unpleasant. In the meantime, she would not attempt any more dream-walks until she knew what she had done wrong.

Content with her solution, she washed and dressed, quickly weaving several narrow braids into her long hair, before going to join her family for what was left of the day. Her brothers were due back from their patrol today, and no doubt they would have lots of stories to tell her! They might even have bought her a gift from one of the settlements they had passed through; last time they had bought her a metal hair clasp, cunningly fashioned to look like a butterfly, set with small red stones, forged by the Dwarves of the Blue Mountains. Grinning at the thought that her brothers bringing her something new, as they often did, she retrieved the clasp from her dresser, and used it to pin some of the braids at the crown of her head, wanting Elladan and Elrohir to see her wearing it, to show them it was appreciated.

Quickly checking her appearance in her looking glass, she nodded, satisfied. Though the circles beneath her eyes were darker than Ada's had been, she could just go along with his belief that she had star-gazed all night, and not slept. No-one should suspect anything different. Leaving her rooms, she made her way downstairs to join her family, putting all thoughts of dreams and nightmares from her mind- there was no point dwelling on it until she spoke with the Voice again and learned what had gone wrong.

She never noticed that her own reflection in the mirror was moving just a fraction slower than she was.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Arwen sat on the porch that wrapped around the front of her home, gazing out over the valley as the Sun began to descend into the west, and stars began to glitter in the eastern reaches of the sky. She felt less weary now than she had, and Ada too had seemed less morose as the day had passed, as if the dream that had not gone as she planned had faded from his thoughts. She had spent her afternoon helping Nana in the gardens, and now she was watching for the return of her brothers, as word had been received that their patrol was almost home, and Glorfindel had gone to escort them across the Bruinen. She had brought a book with her, to pass the time, but it did not hold her interest much, and she had set it aside.

The door to the main house opened, and, listening to the approaching footsteps, Arwen smiled. “Daerada Maglor.” She greeted without looking round.

He shook his head in bemusement as he sat beside her. “I will never understand how you and your father recognize who approaches without even looking.”

They had had this discussion before, but Arwen grinned, always eager to hear more of Ada's childhood, which he rarely spoke of himself. “Could Ada always do that?” Truthfully, she didn't know _how_ she always knew who was nearby, her mind simply knowing their name if it was someone she had met before or knew well, or, if faced with a stranger, seeing an image in her mind's eye, often before the person in question came into view. She knew Ada had a similar ability, though his spread to encompass the entire valley, to monitor who entered their home, but again, he never seemed to wish to discuss it. From him Arwen had learned to keep her 'differences' to herself.

Maglor looked thoughtful, almost sad. “I believe so, although it took some time after I had taken him and your uncle in for him to be willing to discuss it with me.”

“It's because we are descended from Melian, isn't it?” Arwen knew that much from her studies of her own genealogy, that having a Maia as an ancestor was what set her (and Ada) apart from other Eldar, but she wasn't sure exactly _how_  they were different, or if her brothers were the same- she didn't _feel_  any different to anyone else. The odd things she could do- the dream-walking, the glimpses of things yet to happen, seeing what was around her with her mind, not just her eyes- all of that just felt normal to her.

Daerada nodded, then sighed heavily. “Arwen, tithenig, you should really be discussing this with your Adar, not me.”

Arwen's shoulders slumped. “He will not talk about it.” All he had ever told her, when she had mentioned it to him, several years ago, was that it was best not to use her strange abilities, and that it would be better for her if she worked at fitting in with others, to avoid 'trouble', whatever that meant. She had tried to do what he wanted, because he surely knew best, but hadn't been able to help using her gifts, and, if she were honest, she enjoyed it, so why should she avoid it as if it were something shameful? Looking up at Daerada, she widened her eyes imploringly. “Is it... wrong, to be.... not like other Eldar?” She didn't think it was, but Ada was far older than her, and counted among the Wise- what if he were right and she was wrong?

He sighed again, sitting down beside her and putting an arm around her shoulders. “No, tithen el, it is not. But... your Adar had some bad experiences when he was young, and he may believe it otherwise.” _And Elrond associates his Maiarin gifts with Elwing's side of the family, a side he deliberately rejects because of her choices_. The sorrowful thought echoed from Daerada's mind into Arwen's as clearly as if he had spoken aloud, and she blinked in confusion.

“What choices? I thought you adopted Ada and Uncle Elros after Elwing left to search for Earendil...” Only after she had finished the sentence, and Daerada was staring at her did she realise she had replied to his thoughts, not spoken words. She clapped a hand to her mouth. “I... I'm sorry, I didn't...” She sometimes picked up thoughts from others, but was usually able to tell from the tone of 'voice' whether or not someone had spoken aloud. She had not slipped up like that for a long time.

Daerada regarded her for a long minute, then waved his hand dismissively. “Do not concern yourself. As I said, your abilities are naught to be ashamed of.” He smiled wryly. “Your Adar often picked up the thoughts of others when he was your age.”

Arwen was about to ask again what he had meant by Elwing's 'choices', but the whinny of horses in the distance caught her attention, and she turned towards the sound. The patrol had returned, and she could see Glorfindel, mounted on his grey stallion Asfaloth, leading the party into the valley, with her brothers directly behind him. She jumped to her feet, ready to run and meet them, but hesitated, looking back at Daerada Maglor. “Aren't you going to come and greet them with me?”

“No... you go. I will join you later.” He was still seated, head bowed, staring down at his damaged right hand. Arwen could not help but cringe inwardly every time she looked closely at it, the palm and fingers simply covered in scarring, the hand unable to flatten out completely. She knew the injury was a burn that had been sustained in war, two Ages ago, but knew no more than that. For the first time, it occurred to her how little she truly understood of the past. She had learned of the first Enemy of the world, whose name was never now spoken, who had waged war against the Valar, Elves and Men in the First Age, and had been cast out of Arda. Her Ada and Uncle, and almost all her ancestors, had played roles in that war, though she was not certain of what exactly had happened, except that Earendil and Elwing had brought a Silmaril to Valinor and convinced the Valar to at last defeat the Enemy. She also knew of his servant, who had been defeated at the end of the Second Age. Again, Ada had been involved in the war, but she knew little of the specific details of those times. If, as Daerada suggested, Ada was not happy with Elwing, could that be why he had been upset this morning, after the dream she had given him, because he did not want to see his birth mother? She would have to tell the Voice that the next time she spoke with him. Perhaps he did not know Ada's feelings towards Elwing, any more than she did...

Attempting to push those thoughts aside, she managed to smile at Daerada, knowing that it was best to leave him to his thoughts when he was sad- she would tell Ada later, and he would cheer Daerada up, as he always did- before turning away and breaking into a run, eager to see her beloved brothers again, after their time away. Reaching the group of riders who were now dismounting in the courtyard, she slipped through the crowds to get close to the twins, who were deep in conversation with Glorfindel. They all looked tense and worried, but stopped speaking when she approached, all changing their concerned expressions to welcoming smiles. She reached to greet Asfaloth, as she had always admired Glorfindel's huge grey stallion, but, oddly, he flattened his ears and shied away from her hand. Glorfindel, frowning, reached to soothe his horse, muttering only a perfunctory greeting to Arwen. Focused on her grinning brothers, she didn't mind, as she was swept up in one crushing embrace, then another.

“Did you miss us, tithen muinthel?” Elladan set her down and ruffled her hair, laughing as she swatted at him in mock annoyance.

“I missed you until about one minute ago, muindor, when you reminded me how annoying you can be!”

Elladan's incredibly mature response was to stick his tongue out at her. Elrohir rolled his eyes at his twin, then eyed his sister more closely. “Are you well, Arwen? You seem tired.”

“Oh, I stayed up too late last night watching the stars, that's all. I forgot to actually sleep.” The small untruth she had given to everyone who had commented on her appearance that day now slipped from her mouth with ease, even as she wondered if she should ask her brothers about the Voice: technically Elladan and Elrohir were adults, but they would not tell Adar or Naneth her secret if she asked them not to, she was fairly sure. They might be able to help her work out who the Voice was, and how to help him escape from his imprisonment on the Path of Dreams.

A shiver ran down her spine. If she told the twins, and she was mistaken, however, and they told someone, she might never hear the Voice again, and that thought decided her. She didn't want the Voice, whoever it was, to return to solitary exile; it was too cruel a fate. Besides, if she alone could communicate with him, what proof would she have if she told the twins? They wouldn't believe her anyway. Best to keep it to herself.

“Arwen!” Elrohir was standing before her now, lines of worry creasing his forehead. She blinked.

“Sorry, muindor, I was just thinking. Did you say something?”

Elrohir exchanged a look with Elladan before turning back to her. “I said, I am surprised you haven't noticed the gift we bought you yet.”

A present! Arwen grinned, glancing at his hands, then at Elladan's. Neither of them held anything, and she folded her arms. “Are you teasing me?”

Elladan's eyes flickered towards one of his saddlebags, tied securely to his saddle, but carefully left open at the top, as if whatever was inside needed air. Arwen held her breath in anticipation as she stepped closer and the bag squirmed, a high pitched whine coming from within. Her hand brushed the side of Elladan's horse, Arroch, as she reached for the saddlebag, and the bay shifted, snorting and pawing the ground, his eyes rolling uneasily.

Arwen barely noticed the horse's attitude however, as by now she was pulling the bag open to reveal the contents: a tiny white puppy with brown ears nearly the size of its head, brown patches over each eye, a brown nose, and randomly placed brown patches on its back and tail. She clasped her hands together in delight as its curious bright eyes turned to her, and then reached in to scoop it into her arms. It shivered and whined, trying to avoid her hands. It must not be used to being handled yet, she reasoned to herself, lifting the puppy into her arms anyway, beaming as she cuddled it. It trembled for a minute, then settled against her, its tail wagging tentatively once or twice, as if it weren't certain if it was happy or not. Taking care not to squash the animal, she threw her arms round her older brothers, one at a time. “Thank you! I love him already.” She stroked the puppy's head, and in response, it gave her hand a cautious lick. “Where did he come from?”

The twins laughed. “It's a female, Arwen,” Elladan explained. “And _she_  came from a small village of men a few days' ride from here. The mortals breed these for hunting, but this little one will not grow to the same size as our hunting hounds do, so she should be easy for you to train as she grows.”

“Or you could just keep her as a pet, if you wanted.” Elrohir added.

She hugged the puppy close again, thrilled. Her very own dog, that wouldn't grow to the enormous size of the hounds kept in the stables here! “Thank you both!” Shifting the puppy to one arm, she caught Elrohir's hand. “Let's go and tell Adar and Nana you've returned. I want to hear _all_  about your adventures as well.”

The twins exchanged looks once again as Arwen pulled at Elrohir. “Muinthel, we should tend to our horses first, and we do need to bathe after our travels. Why don't you go and inform Adar and Naneth that we have returned, and we will join you in the house shortly?”

Arwen released Elrohir's hand, and decided to tease them a little, making a show of sniffing the air. “Very well. You two _do_  smell as if you've been dwelling in stables for months, now I think about it... you had better clean up lest the entire house passes out from your stench!” Laughing, she ducked both of her brothers' feigned blows, and ran back towards the house, out of their reach, ignoring their half-serious threats, issued even as they joined in her laughter. “Thank you again for the puppy!” She called back as the twins moved out of sight. Once she was alone, she snuggled the pup closer to her and dropped a kiss onto its tiny head. “We need to choose a name for you... what do you think, hmm?” Debating ideas in her mind, she went back indoors, eager to show off her new pet to her parents. And to inform them that Elladan and Elrohir had returned home, of course. Hopefully Adar and Nana would not mind that her brothers had given her a puppy without consulting them first: she already loved this adorable little creature, and did not want her given away!

* * *

**Elvish Translations:**

**Daerada: Grandfather**

**Tithen/Tithenig: Little/Little one**

**Muinthel: Sister  
**

**Muindor: Brother**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case anyone would like an image reference, this is the type of puppy that Arwen now has: https://www.pinterest.co.uk/pin/73465037645179106/?lp=true


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, I attempt to describe the Doors of Night and the Timeless Void, both of which do exist in Tolkien's canon. I am not too skilled at description though, so for reference purposes: https://lotr.fandom.com/wiki/Door_of_Night

Over the next few days, Arwen spent most of her free time playing with the puppy, or listening to her brothers' tales of their latest adventure, once again pleading to be allowed to accompany them next time, even though she knew her wish was futile: they (and Ada and Nana) would say she was too young. But the mysterious Voice that had appeared in her dreams slipped further from her mind as the days passed. It, or He, whichever it was, had not spoken again, and she began to believe that it had been naught but a figment of her imagination. What dreams she had had since that day had been normal, by her standards: she had dream-walked into the minds of her Nana and her brothers, and nothing unusual had happened. So she was untroubled as she drifted off to sleep three nights later, except for a vague concern about the 'prison' the Voice's owner may have been in, if in truth it was real. She hoped it was not _too_  harsh a place...

The white mists of the Path of Dreams engulfed her, and slowly dissipated. She looked around eagerly, wondering where she had been taken. A shudder ran through her as she took in her surroundings, or rather, the lack thereof. For all she could see was the blackness of a starless night, darkness that had never been countered by light. There was no ground to speak of, yet she did not fall. She merely... was, amidst the fathomless blackness. The icy chill of the utter void in which she found herself penetrated her very bones, or so it felt, and she wrapped her arms around herself for warmth. Only then did she realize she could not feel the sensation of her own embrace. She began breathing more rapidly, but her breath did not create mist in the frigid air, nor could she hear the sound as she exhaled. Closing her eyes, or believing she did, as the view did not change and she could feel nothing but the cold, she concentrated, trying to will herself back to wakefulness, something she could typically do at will.

Nothing happened. Arwen's heart pounded, and she tried again, concentrating harder, to no avail. She still remained within that formless, black place. Her mouth opened in a scream for help, but once again, no sound was audible.

 _Little bird?_  The Voice sounded in her mind, deafening against the relentless silence. She recoiled from the sound, even as relief flooded her- she was not alone in this awful place!

 _Little bird, how came you here? Come, you must go_. The Voice was harsher than last time she had heard it, but to hear anything at all in this emptiness was such a relief that Arwen scarcely noticed. There was a strange sensation of something brushing against her right hand, blazing hot but somehow icy at the same time. The pressure increased, as if something or someone had gripped her hand. _You must leave here immediately. This is no place for the Children of Iluvatar_. A wave of dizziness came over her as she felt herself move, and yet the blackness remained exactly the same. Disoriented, it took a moment for her to notice a shape forming in the darkness- a huge set of doors, too vast for her to see the entirety of them, carven from some black stone, engraved with twisting shapes that she could not make out, and through the doors, a glimpse of the true night sky, dotted with stars. Arwen almost sobbed with relief as she regained the feeling in her limbs, and in an instant, she was back in the swirling white mist of the Path of Dreams. The Voice had led her from that terrible place, back to safety. Squeezing her eyes shut, she brought herself back to the waking world and sat upright in her bed, shivering. What had that awful emptiness been?!

A cold nose nudged her hand. That, and the soft whine that followed, nearly made her jump out of her skin, until she remembered she had brought the puppy up here earlier, sneaking her pet past Nana and Adar so she could sleep on her bed. Breathing shakily, she patted the dog's head, finding reassurance in its warm silky fur, before slipping from bed. Her hands trembled as she lit several candles, placing them around the room. Perhaps it was childish, but she certainly did not want to remain in darkness after that nightmare!

 _That was reckless, little bird._  The Voice was chiding as it echoed in her mind. _You wandered too far_.

Arwen started, and a drop of hot wax fell from the candle she held, sizzling onto her hand, making her wince. "W-what?" She looked around, confused. "Am I still dreaming? If I can hear you..."

 _No, little bird. I can, if I wish, speak to you briefly while you are awake, though it takes no small effort from me_. It paused. _Your wanderings were foolish. I scarcely noticed how far you had gone. You were lucky I was able to guide you home._

"I did not do anything deliberately!"Arwen protested, annoyed. "I had only just gone to sleep and my mind carried me... there. Wherever there was." She shuddered at the memory of that dreadful place. "Thank you for guiding me back. I will not go there again willingly."

There was a long silence, and a shiver ran down Arwen's back, as if something was watching her. The puppy stood up on the bed, growled, then let out a series of high-pitched barks in the direction of... the vanity mirror? Arwen followed its gaze, but saw only a shadow flickering in the candlelight.

 _Very well._  The Voice said at last. _You seem to be more powerful than I expected. More lessons will be needed, and quickly. But not tonight. You have experienced enough. It is a mercy you were not discovered in that place. Rest now, little bird. I will stand watch over your dreams this night, to ensure your fea does not stray overmuch once more. You need not fear any unknown dangers_.

Setting down the candle she held on her dresser, and picking off the wax that had now cooled on the back of her left hand, Arwen returned to bed. It _was_  late at night, after all. The puppy walked across her legs a few times, before lying down across her feet as Arwen pulled her coverlet over herself. A possibility occurred to her- if the Voice could use mind-speak to communicate with her while she was awake, could she respond in the same way? _Thank you for guiding me home, mellon nin,_  she sent, half expecting there to be no reply.

The Voice chuckled. _Again you surprise me, little bird. You have quite a talent. But sleep now. There will be time enough for us to talk in days to come_. The words were soothing, and Arwen's eyes drooped. She yawned before the Voice had even finished speaking. Laying her head on the pillow, she drowsily noticed that the puppy, while still lying down atop her feet, was now tense and had its ears back. Its gaze was still on the mirror, and it was still intermittently letting out low, barely audible growls. _Silly pup, growling at its own reflection_... Had that been her thought, or the Voice's, she wondered idly... oh, it didn't really matter, she decided, it was too late at night to try and work it out. The pup's growls were quiet enough to ignore, and soon she had drifted into a deep dreamless sleep.

The following morning, as the Sun rose, spilling light throughout her bedroom, she could only recall snatches of a nightmare, fading from her mind like morning dew evaporating in Arien's light. The only thing she did recall was the Voice coaxing her awake again. It, or he, really _was_  real, and cared enough to keep her from having bad dreams. The knowledge of a secret friend that would look after her to that extent made her smile as she brushed her long black hair, then wound it into a single braid. A sudden pain shot through her right hand, and she glanced at it, perplexed. She remembered the candle dripping onto her hand last night, but surely it had not done _this_? The burn on her hand nearly covered her palm! She prodded it gingerly. It throbbed, but was not too painful. Heading to her bathing room, she ran cool water onto the injury, wincing, then bound it in a soft cloth. Adar and Nana would notice, of course, but it was only a candle burn, caused by her own clumsiness. She did not need to bother them for treatment. Dressing quickly, she whistled to the puppy before making her way downstairs to begin her day, part of her wondering, already, if she would hear the Voice during daylight hours. He had said it wearied him to speak to her while she was awake, but still, she could hope... it would certainly make her lessons less dull, if she had someone to speak to besides her tutor!

As she ran down the stairs, suddenly famished and eager for breakfast, she saw her mother in the hallway below. "Good morning, Nana!" Arwen beamed. The puppy barked, as if seconding her greeting.

Nana laughed. "Good morning! You seem cheerful today, Undomiel nin."

"Well, it's a beautiful day, is it not?" Arwen replied. 

"I suppose so, although it is early, and the weather may yet- Arwen, what have you done to your hand?!" Nana grabbed her wrist, staring at her bandaged hand, her green eyes wide with concern.

Arwen tugged her hand away, feeling self-conscious. "It's nothing, Nana. The puppy started barking in the middle of the night for some reason. I got up to light a candle to see what was wrong, and wax dripped onto my hand, that's all. It does not even hurt." That wasn't strictly true- it ached- but there was no reason for Nana to worry. It would heal, and it wasn't serious.

Nana's eyes narrowed. "Are you sure?" She did not look convinced.

Arwen smiled. "Yes, Nana. I'm _fine_. Is breakfast ready?"

"Soon. Just out of interest, what was the dog barking at? I do not recall hearing anything last night."

Arwen blinked. Nana hadn't heard the dog's explosive barking? That was odd... but then again, Nana and Ada's rooms were quite some distance from hers. "Oh, she just glimpsed her own reflection and thought it was another dog. I suppose she's never seen a mirror before."

Nana shook her head in exasperation. "Which is one of many reasons Adar and I told you not to bring her upstairs at night." She arched a brow. "Or did you forget?" Her lips twitched, as if she was holding back a laugh.

"I'm sorry." Arwen replied automatically. Although, really, it was _her_  pet, why shouldn't she have it upstairs in her room if she wanted? What harm could it do?

"Muinthel!" Elladan and Elrohir burst into the hall from outside, making their usual amount of noise and effectively ending the conversation, much to Arwen's relief. "It is a beautiful day out there, would you like to accompany us for a ride after breakfast?" Elrohir looked at her hopefully.

"It would be a shame to waste such a splendid day indoors, would it now?" Elladan added, his eyes glinting. "I am sure your lessons could be rearranged."

Arwen smirked. "Mm-hmm. You just want me to ask Ada for permission for you, don't you?"

Both twins' faces reddened. "Well... you're so much better at it than us!" Elladan finally managed.

Arwen tilted her head to one side, considering. "All right- but _you_  have to convince Glorfindel to let me ride Asfaloth again. _Without_  him coming along with us."

The twins exchanged looks. "We take it back. We'll ask Adar. You can deal with Glorfindel."

"Too late, you already made the deal." Arwen stuck her tongue out at them. They both sighed heavily.

Nana laughed, shaking her head, ushering them all towards the family dining room. "Come along, troublemakers, breakfast will be waiting. You can discuss plans for today while we eat."

To Arwen's relief, her banter with her brothers seemed to have made Nana forget about the burn on her hand. Now, as long as Ada didn't notice, or Daerada Maglor if he joined them for breakfast- he was not always there- then she wouldn't have to keep talking about it, and could just forget her foolish accident. And if they did get to go for a ride today, she might even be able to show the Voice how beautiful her home was!

* * *

**Elvish Names/Translations:**

**Adar/Ada: Father/Papa**

**Naneth/Nana: Mother/Mama**

**Muinthel: Sister**

**Iluvatar: The Creator/God**

**Children of Iluvatar: Elves and Men**

**Arien: The Maia who guides the vessel of the Sun**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope people are enjoying this story. Any comments are welcome and appreciated!


	5. Chapter 5

Arwen pushed back her windswept, tangled hair from her face as she led Asfaloth back into his stall. The twins had put their horses out to graze just across the Bruinen after their ride, but as Asfaloth did not belong to Arwen, she knew she had better return him to his stall- she had given her word to Glorfindel that she would, after all. Technically, she had also given her word that she and her brothers were only going riding, and would not be doing anything else, but what Glorfindel (and Ada and Nana) were not aware of would not hurt them, she reasoned, as she stretched to close the heavy stall door, leaving Asfaloth munching at a hay net. Her arms and shoulders ached from the swordplay drills her brothers had supervised her on, and she could feel tender spots on her skin that would become bruises, from blows she had failed to block or avoid when Elrohir had sparred with her, and from being flung to the ground when Elladan had mock-wrestled with her. She would have to make sure to wear long-sleeved garments until those bruises healed, or she would probably receive another lecture on 'unladylike' behavior from her tutor, and be scolded for deceiving Glorfindel and her parents when they found out. Not to mention, the twins might get into trouble as well...

“Did you enjoy your ride, iell nin?”

Arwen started, whirling round, her hand pressed to her heart. She relaxed (slightly) when she saw her mother standing in the entrance to the stables, her brow furrowed in a stern expression, but her lips twitching as if she were holding back a smile.

Arwen made her eyes as big and doe-like as possible. “Yes, Nana. The lands surrounding our home are beautiful in the spring.” She smiled. “There are more niphredil blossoms than ever in the meadow closest to the river.”

“Mm-hmm.” Nana folded her arms. “And you spent several hours there with your brothers, who were simply content to admire flowers with you?”

Arwen gulped. “...yes?” Nana's eyes were piercing into her, and Arwen had a feeling that she had already been found out. Her shoulders slumped, but she decided not to admit to anything, in case she was mistaken.

“Your brothers were returning several practice weapons to the armory as I made my way here.” Nana's voice was casual.

Arwen thought rapidly. “They sparred while we were in the meadow, while I minded the horses.”

Nana shook her head, her soft, infectious laughter causing a smile to spread across Arwen's face too. “You truly are gifted with a quick wit, Arwen nin, no one would argue that!”

Arwen's cheeks reddened. As always, Nana knew when she was not telling the full truth- well, almost always, she reflected. Nana had not yet discerned the existence of the Voice, Arwen's secret friend. Odd, that this one detail should evade her mother's sharp gaze... “I'm sorry, Nana.” She said contritely, her eyes on the ground.

“All is well, Arwen.” Nana tsked as she pulled a leaf from Arwen's mussed hair. “I understand your desire to emulate your brothers, and truthfully, there is little harm in it, despite what others may say. Adar and I only caution you to be careful, for fear of you doing irreparable harm to your reputation. You are young now, but soon, you will draw near to adulthood, and then, as one of the Ladies of Imladris, certain things will be expected of you.”

“I _know_ , Nana.” Arwen sighed, aware she was pouting, but not caring. “But I like sparring and training with Elladan and Elrohir. I do not enjoy sitting and embroidering with other ellith my age, while they gossip about dull things.”

Nana sighed quietly, then stepped closer, slipping a hand under Arwen's chin, making her meet her gaze. “I know, iell nin. But no-one in this world can have what they want, all the time. That is just how life is.”

 _Nonsense_. The Voice commented dryly, echoing in Arwen's mind. _Only fools believe that. The strong know they may do as they wish_.

Arwen had blinked when she first heard the Voice- he had never spoken in the hearing of someone else before! And why now? He had remained silent for the entire time she had been in her brothers' company... It took a moment for her to realize that Nana's face had paled. Even her lips were bloodless. She had almost staggered away from her, her eyes wide. “Arwen...” Her voice was faint, as if Arwen were not in sight.

She blinked, confused. “What's wrong, Nana?” It struck her then: had Nana _heard_  the Voice, somehow? Why had he let that happen? (And when had she become certain that the Voice was male, anyway? She was sure, now, that the Voice _was_  male, but how and when had she come to that conclusion?)

Nana was breathing rapidly, and her hands were trembling. Arwen could not work out why. Surely if Nana had heard the Voice of Arwen's friend, it was a good thing, because it meant she did not have to keep him a secret any more.

Nana swallowed heavily before speaking. “Arwen, did you not see...” She shivered.

See? What did she mean? “It's just his voice, Nana. We speak in dreams and minds. There is nothing _to_  see.”

 _Quiet, little bird_. The Voice cautioned, his tone lowered as if he whispered only to her. This time, Nana did not react. _Your mother does not understand. Her mind creates an image of fear. She will try to urge you away from me._

Arwen's brow furrowed as she kept her eyes on her mother, while listening to the Voice. _Why?_   She asked silently.

 _For the same reason I became imprisoned_. The Voice was full of sorrow now. _Those I once counted as kin did not understand me and I was shunned for following my own nature. Now I am bound to my eons of lonely exile, with almost none willing or able to hear my words_.

Tears pricked Arwen's eyes at the Voice's words. That was awful! Nobody deserved that, surely? Nana was saying something, and it took a minute for her to focus and realize what she had asked.

“Answer me, Arwen!” Her words were sharp, making Arwen flinch a little: Nana never spoke to her in that way!

“What?” Her voice wavered. Seeing her mother angry made her uneasy, and also she was afraid that the Voice was right, that Nana would prevent her speaking to him somehow, and then he would be utterly alone once more, this time forever.

Nana's eyes were narrowed to slits, her face still ashen from fear. “You would tell me if anything... unusual were going on, would you not, Undomiel?”

“Of course, Nana. But everything is fine.” She replied meekly, ignoring the prick of guilt she felt. And, really, it was. She had been able to speak in the minds of others since she had learned to talk. The fact that the Voice was not physically here meant nothing. Nana would not understand. She could not allow their talks to end, and doom the Voice to an eternity of loneliness!

“Truly? Because you just said that someone or something has been speaking to you, although you cannot see them.”

 _She sees too much, little bird_. The Voice sounded almost musing now. _Almost she reminds me of one I knew long ago..._

 _Who?_  Arwen could not help but ask, curious.

_You may only know of her, little bird. Artanis she was when I knew her, Galadriel I believe to be her name now, if she remains upon these shores._

Arwen's smile almost split her face, and she spoke aloud, throwing caution to the wind. “Nana, he says he knows Daernaneth!” She frowned. “Only, he knew her as Artanis. I thought that was her name back in the First Age, before she met Daeradar...”

 _Artanis' daughter... and your mother... Do not tell her anything more!_ The Voice warned. The undercurrent of dread she could sense from him was so strong that Arwen closed her mouth immediately. She wanted to apologize, but the look on Nana's face was worse now, almost as if she had seen something horrifying. The Voice was right, Arwen realized. She should have simply kept quiet and not told her anything: she did not understand. Now she had to do something to make sure Nana felt better and was not scared or upset any more.

“I will not speak to the Voice again, Nana, if it upsets you.” The words were spoken with her head lowered, and with her hands hidden by the fall of her hair. Nana should have no idea that Arwen had had her fingers crossed when she had said that. Now she would feel better, so the tiny lie could do no harm, and, Arwen decided as she walked away quickly, pretending not to hear Nana's concerned voice calling her back, she would be sure to keep her secrets to herself from now on, if this was how people would react. As if there was something wrong with wanting to be kind to someone who had been exiled and was simply lonely! Had Daerada Maglor not once been in that position, before Ada gave him another home here in Rivendell? She did not know much beyond that, except that Daerada had wandered alone for many years before finding Ada again, and helping him in a war, but surely if he deserved a home, so too did the Voice?

 _Exactly, little bird._  The Voice agreed, soothing her agitation. _And if an Oathbreaker such as he is deserving of another chance, why may I not be granted the same?_

Oathbreaker? Arwen was not sure what that meant, having not heard that word applied to Daerada Maglor before. _What do you mean?_  She queried of the Voice as she walked heedlessly, only dimly aware that she was moving northward, towards the outskirts of Rivendell.

 _Oh, little bird, how much you do not know of your people's history..._  He chuckled. _Once we are away from prying eyes and ears, I will tell you the tale of your adoptive grandfather and his family..._

Smiling in anticipation of hearing a new story, Arwen began humming cheerfully as she made her way up into the pine forests that engulfed the slopes leading out of the valley. Normally, she would have to have one or both of her brothers, or Ada, or Glorfindel, or Daerada Maglor, or a guard accompanying her, this far from the valley itself. But truly, why should she? This was still Ada's territory, so there was no reason she should not venture here, home was still within sight, she would be easy enough to find should anyone come looking for her, and she was only going to listen to an ancient tale...

 


	6. Chapter 6

Arwen continued climbing higher and higher into the hills that surrounded the valley of her home, scarcely aware of how far she had travelled or where she was going, her mind lulled into a sense of peace: her friend wished her to be some distance from her home before he told her his tale, and so she would be. Still, she felt an unease steal over her when she looked about herself and saw naught but the pine forests, filled with shadows where little light penetrated. Even the birds and animals normally found in the forest seemed to have fallen silent- or fled. A shiver ran down her spine and she ceased walking.

 _What is it, little bird?_  The Voice asked, his tone gentle. Arwen thought he sounded almost condescending, the way adults sometimes spoke to her when they thought she was being childish. Her fists clenched in annoyance- she had not thought he would treat her that way.

“Where are we actually going? Why could you not tell me this tale at home?” For, she had just noticed, they had drawn very close to the border of Rivendell, where Ada's power ceased. Outside that boundary, safety was not assured, and she had never ventured there without a guard. Doing so was forbidden to her if she was alone, and it had always been so.

There was a pause before the Voice replied, and then he spoke slowly, as if his words were chosen with care. _Your mother detected my presence earlier, little bird. If I speak for too long within your father's realm, others may do so as well. Surely you do not wish for that, to have our friendship discovered, and likely ended by force?_

Arwen bit her lip. It made sense, and she did not want to lose her friend, but... “I have never left the valley alone before, and I am unarmed. If something happens...”

The Voice laughed, not unkindly. _Ah, but you are not alone, little bird. I am with you, and I will let no harm befall you_.

Arwen swallowed hard, then nodded. She trusted the Voice, after all, and if some danger did arise, he would warn her, and protect her. And home was a short distance away: even if she did cross the border, all she would have to do was step back across it to be safe. Nothing of ill intent could enter Rivendell unless one who already dwelt there brought it within. And none that Arwen knew would ever do such a thing. Taking a deep breath, she resumed walking, and shivered when she stepped from the realm where Ada's power ran: the change was almost tangible, the woods becoming noticeably darker, the atmosphere more menacing, as she squared her shoulders and continued her ascent, until the valley was out of sight. She stopped when she reached a large clearing, the sky above visible through the canopy of tree branches, and took a deep breath. The trees that she had walked through had seemed to press close, almost crowding her, and she relaxed upon feeling cool, clean air upon her face, tilting her head up toward the sky, watching the clouds drift across the blue expanse.

 _You enjoy the sky, little bird?_  There was something odd in the Voice's tone, something she could not identify. It felt almost cold, bitter.

“Of course. All my people do. The sky, the stars... they are beautiful, are they not?” Arwen was puzzled- she could almost feel resentment from the Voice, and then she realized why, and could have kicked herself. How long had it been since he could see such things in truth, not merely detect them through her eyes, imprisoned as he was?

 _I suppose so, though I have long preferred the works of mine own hands to those of others_.

Arwen blinked. “But the stars and sky are the domain of Manwe and Varda, the greatest of the Valar. How could you not love such beauty?”

 _Do not speak their names!_  The Voice hissed, sounding livid, suddenly. _They may hear_.

Arwen did not think that very likely- why would the two greatest Powers in Arda be remotely interested in an Elfling merely uttering their names? “I doubt it. But you should not speak of them in such anger.”

 _And why not?_  The Voice nearly scoffed.

“Because... you just shouldn't.” Arwen felt decidedly uneasy now. Everyone knew you did not speak ill of the Valar. It just was not done. They were beings to be revered and loved, the Guardians of the world against evil.

 _Is that so?_  The Voice paused, and Arwen shivered, feeling as if unseen eyes were boring into her, laying her mind and all her thoughts bare. _You have been taught well the lessons your kind believe. But how would it be if I told you that the Valar, the beings you think so highly of, were responsible for my imprisonment?_

Arwen froze, unable to form a coherent thought in that moment. “What?” Was all she could manage, in a tiny voice. That made no sense! Why would they have done such a thing? What had the Voice done to deserve that? Suddenly, obeying him as she had, leaving the safety of her home, did not seem like the wisest thing to have done. “Why would they...”

_A series of misunderstandings, and their refusal to grant me peace and pardon when I pleaded for it._

Arwen sucked in a deep breath, horrified to hear that the Powers had been so callous. A sensation like a hand smoothing her hair, a gesture of comfort, relaxed her. _Perhaps now, little bird, you begin to see_ , The Voice spoke kindly now, _That what is viewed as right and good by some is merely a matter of perspective._

“I-I do not understand.” She wrapped her arms around herself. This was wrong, every instinct she had was telling her that. “I do not want to talk about this.” Casting about for another subject, she blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “I thought you were going to tell me a tale of Daerada Maglor's past?” Anything to cease this discussion that was almost heretical and made nausea well within her!

 _If you wish, little bird. Perhaps it is too soon for this particular lesson to mean aught to you_. The Voice sighed. _Where would you like to begin?_

Arwen tried to force down the wariness she still felt- the conversation that made her uncomfortable was over, and she would not allow the Voice to discuss it again, so all was well. “Tell me what Daerada Maglor was like when he and his family first came to Middle-Earth from Valinor in the First Age. No-one ever tells me anything about that time.”

The Voice chuckled. _Best make yourself comfortable, little bird. That is a long tale, but one I know well. I was there for a great deal of it..._

Arwen, relieved that the Voice was not angered, and that they were no longer discussing matters that should not be spoken of, obediently sat upon the forest floor and closed her eyes, wanting to picture what her friend told her as he spoke. The utter lack of animals and birds nearby, and the ever-darkening shadows surrounding the clearing, slipped from her mind completely, as the Voice began to weave his tale.

 


	7. Chapter 7

Tears welled in Arwen's eyes, burning, as she shook her head, desperate to deny the Voice's words. She went to clamp her hands to her ears, as if to block out what he had told her- Daerada Maglor could not have taken part in such horrific deeds! Her hands twitched, but, oddly, did not move as she had willed them.

 _Do you not believe me, little bird?_  There was a note of cruel amusement in the Voice now, as if he was sneering at her.

“No!” Arwen's voice shook, her words shrill. “That cannot be what happened!” Daerada Maglor had been part of the family all her life, he loved their family! He could never have been responsible for...

Killing other Elves. Kinslaying. The thought was so sickening, so wrong, that her mind shied away from the very idea of it.

 _Ask him then. See what he has to say on the matter, if you will_.

“No.” Arwen clenched her fists- or tried to. Nothing happened. She could still feel her body- the cool air on her face, the solid ground she sat upon- but for some reason, she could not move. “W-what's going on? I want to go home, I don't want to hear any more stories.” She could still see what was directly in front of her, although she could not turn her head. She was still in the forest, but the shadows cast by the trees had thickened considerably, blocking out the light of the Sun as if it were not there. The trunks of the trees were barely visible through the murk, and there was no whisper of a breeze as there had been earlier. She attempted to stand, conscious of a rising urge to get out of here and run to safety, but again, her limbs did not obey her will. “W-why can't I move?” Her voice was almost a whimper.

 _Oh, you can. But only when I allow it_. It was still the Voice speaking, Arwen was sure of that, but any trace of kindness or melancholy had vanished. Now he sounded harsh and cruel. Her heart began pounding, loud enough that she was certain it could be heard by the animals of the forest. Except, there were none nearby. She had not noticed before now, but the only sound was that of her own breathing. An icy chill flooded her veins as the darkness edged closer and closer to where she sat, frozen. Still she tried to appeal to the Voice, a tiny part of her hoping that he was still the friend he had claimed to be, though evidence now was suggesting otherwise. “A-are you going to hurt me? I thought you were m-my friend...”

The Voice laughed, mockingly. _Gullible little fool! You have not a drop of the wisdom or insight of your ancestress, despite wearing her face! I truly thought this would be more difficult to accomplish, but you offered yourself to me as a fly wanders complacently into the web of a spider!_

The shadows now engulfed Arwen, as her mind whirled with confusion- what was the Voice _talking_  about? Which ancestress? Spiders, webs, flies... was he saying this was a trap? All light vanished from around her, and she attempted to scream, only to find that even her voice was no longer in her control. Fathomless blackness surrounded her, no indication of the sky or the ground, just... darkness. Terror coursed through her- this was exactly what she had seen in her most recent nightmare, before the Voice had guided her away. Was _this_  the prison he had spoken of, this... void? But why was she seeing it again now? How could she get out of here, when she couldn't even feel a connection to her own body? What had the Voice _done_  to her? Had she let him do this somehow?!

Voices broke the relentless silence, and Arwen nearly sobbed with relief, until she realized she had no idea where they were coming from. They echoed from nowhere and everywhere at once. Still, the sound gave her something to focus on, and she could try and communicate, somehow. Listening hard, she recognized her brothers' voices, and could have wept. As soon as she worked out how to get them to hear her, they could get Ada and Nana, and they would help her.

“...to know where you have been, muinthel. You have been missing for hours. Adar and Naneth are beside themselves!” That was Elladan. He did not sound pleased, and Arwen gulped. She hated angering her brothers, and to have worried her parents...

“I'm sorry, muindor.” Her own voice replied to Elladan's words, and Arwen started. How was she hearing her own voice when she was not speaking?! “I was walking in the woods and lost track of time. I did not mean to worry anyone. I will come home now.” Over the sound of her own voice speaking words that were not hers, she could hear the Voice laughing mockingly. He had to be speaking for her somehow!

“No! No! Elladan, Elrohir, that's not me!” Arwen, still lost in the black void, tried to scream, to no avail. She heard one of the twins sigh, then, for a split second, she could see, as Elrohir took her by the arm and guided her back into Rivendell, over the boundary where Ada's power ran. “Elrohir-” She gasped, stunned to find that suddenly, she could speak again. She had to explain everything, right now, while she still could, before the Voice noticed.

He released her arm. “What?”

“I-” And then she was shoved back into the blackness with some force, as if the Voice had physically struck her.

 _A good attempt, little bird, but I will not be stopped so easily_.

“Arwen?” Elrohir's voice echoed through the darkness, sounding puzzled. “Were you going to say something?”

“I was just wondering how long it will be until supper.” The Voice replied, using Arwen's voice again. “It feels as if I have not eaten for over an Age.”

Her brothers laughed, having no idea anything was amiss, as Arwen screamed their names, terrified for them and for her family. They had no idea it was not her they were speaking with, and she had no way to tell them. They were in _danger_ , and-

 _And you have no-one to blame for that but yourself, little bird_. The Voice sneered. Somehow, he was able to speak to her while she was here, and still use her body as his puppet, with no-one the wiser.

Arwen shivered, trying not to sob from her fear. “Why are you doing this? What do you want?”

 _You have already given me what I want, little bird: my freedom. And all that follows..._  He laughed ominously. _It will be on your conscience, and none other's. I thank you for providing me with a way back into Arda_. His gloating laugh was the last thing she heard, somehow sensing his departure, before the crushing icy blackness became absolute. She curled in on herself, struggling to remain warm amidst the formless darkness, cowering from fear and guilt.

What had she _done_?

 


	8. Chapter 8

Arwen had huddled in on herself in a desperate attempt to create some warmth in the emptiness she was now trapped in, to no avail. She had been crying out for help and weeping for so long that her throat should have been parched and her eyes sore and stinging, but she felt nothing. And her attempts at calling for aid had availed nothing but mockery and gloating from the Voice that still wore her form, using her as its puppet. How long had it been? She had heard the voices of her family- Ada, Nana, Elladan and Elrohir, and Daerada Maglor, every so often, but the words were hardly understandable, as if she was hearing them from below the surface of water, or somewhere incredibly far away. The Voice, whoever he truly was, had told her she deserved this, for inviting him in, allowing him to control her. But she _hadn't_  done that! She had only felt pity for an imprisoned being, and wanted to comfort him. Surely something done in kindness did not deserve this torment, this unending fear for the people she loved, that the Voice could now do whatever he wished to, with them none the wiser?

 _Still wailing in despair, little bird?_  The mocking Voice- the only sound Arwen heard in this endless blackness- sounded crueler than he ever had before. Too late she realized that this was his true nature, and the solemnity and sorrow she had sensed before had been an act to lower her guard. _Do not worry, your kin are well, and unsuspecting- for now. Until I decide to reveal myself to them_.

Arwen's heart pounded. _I-if you do that, they will stop you. They'll set me free._

His harsh laughter reverberated throughout the awful place Arwen was suspended in. _Amazing that you have such faith in the weakened power and watered bloodline of your pathetic family, little bird. Your own gifts are stronger than most since Luthien herself, and even so, it took me less than a month to break you to my will._

A flash of anger at his words sent warmth coursing through Arwen, and she clung to it, as one drowning would cling to driftwood. The rage allowed her to focus despite the relentless cold. _I am not broken_. It came out sounding stronger than even she had planned, and, to her amazement, the heat coursing through her veins had a visible effect- she was _glowing_ with a faint light, that barely illuminated the Darkness, yet she heard the Voice hiss in dismay. Arwen blinked in amazement, and for an instant, she was back in her own body, in the family parlor in Rivendell. Daerada Maglor was sitting nearby, idly tuning a harp. She could not restrain a gasp- the Voice was gone! Daerada looked up, starting at the sound she had made, and, breathing rapidly, Arwen struggled to find the words to explain what had happened. “Daerada, I need help, something's wrong-” Her words were clumsy, as if she were out of the habit of speaking, and shadows were shifting behind her eyes, distorting her vision- now she could see Daerada and the room, now she was back in that black Void-

“Arwen, what-” Daerada Maglor's voice faded in and out, clear one moment, barely audible the next.

 _You will NOT do this!_  The Voice hissed. _I will not be exiled again_.

“Arwen?” Daerada's looked concerned. “What's going on? Your eyes...” His voice sounded wary.

Arwen had no idea what had happened to her eyes, of course, but if something visible was happening, maybe Daerada would work out that something was wrong? The Light still gleamed around her in the Void, and she struggled to maintain it, as it seemed to drive the Voice back and allow her to speak in her own body. How, she had no idea, but she would not complain.

 _STOP THIS_. The Voice bellowed in rage, loud enough to make her cower and tremble. Arwen, feeling her physical body panting for breath, struggled to ignore him. She dug her nails into her palms, letting the pain ground her. She stared straight into Daerada's eyes, speaking rapidly, praying he would believe her.

“Daerada, I'm trapped somewhere dark. I don't know where. Something has stolen my body. Tell Ada-”

And then the scene, the brief glimpse of her home, and the blessed sensation of having a physical form once again, was gone, and she was plunged once more into the Darkness. The Light that had emanated from her faded considerably, leaving just a faint illumination that dimmed by the minute, and the crushing cold of the Void seemed worse than ever. She whimpered, finding it harder to endure this now that she had had a brief glimpse of her true home. Maybe her 'escape' would do some good though, if Daerada believed her...

 _You will pay for that, little bird_. The Voice rumbled ominously. _You wish to see your kin? Worry not, you will. If you have exposed me, then you will see them all die in torment, one by one, if they attempt to hinder my will. And I will generously allow you to watch every instant of their suffering_.

 _No!_ But Arwen's terror was now so great that she could not even bring herself to argue with the Voice. It would only make things worse. Instead, in silence, she prayed to the Powers to protect her family from this... monster. _Please. Manwe Sulimo, Varda Elentari, greatest of the Valar, let no harm come to those I love..._  She wept as she prayed, though, as ever in this place, she had no sensation of tears falling. _Protect my family from the evil I have brought upon them_.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick apology; the names of Manwe Sulimo and Varda Elentari used in this chapter are supposed to be typed with accents above some of the letters, but I don't actually know how to type those. Sorry about that!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a POV change in this chapter, just to let you know. It was the only way to keep the story going without it becoming one-sided and boring.

Morgoth scowled as his stolen body stumbled with fatigue. It had only been a few days since he had departed the young elfling's home, an action he had been forced into far sooner than he had hoped, because of the whelp's own meddling and the prying eyes of Maglor Feanorian. Staying in Imladris and continuing to pretend to be the child would not work. So he had slipped out just as night fell, the same day that Arwen had made her almost futile attempt to communicate to someone what he was doing. He had considered taking a horse, knowing that the bodies of the Firstborn wearied quickly compared to his own true form, but the beasts had shied and shrieked at his approach. Fearing discovery, he had left the realm on foot. But now it appeared he had overestimated the stamina contained in this young form. If only she had been closer to adulthood, this would not be so difficult. Why was this body _tired_? He had only been travelling for four days and nights, and his only other exertion had been to keep Arwen's own fea locked away in the Void, so she could not interfere again. He should not be feeling such exhaustion, surely? Something else felt off, too: Arwen's mouth and throat- his now- were dry, lips raw and cracked, and he had an unpleasant gnawing sensation in his stomach, a feeling he had not known before. Was this due to his forced presence in a form that was not his own, or something else?

His aforementioned stomach made a strange growling, gurgling sound, and that tugged at Morgoth's memory- he had heard that often, long ago, from various prisoners. The body was _hungry_. He laughed, but the high, girlish sound made him grit his teeth. The sooner he could restore his own form and be rid of the shell of this foolish elfling, the better. To that end, he willed away any bodily urges and continued his trek higher into the so-called Hithaeglir, the Misty Mountains. The one he sought was near, he could sense it. His last remaining servant, the only one who had survived his banishment, and, so far as he could tell, had not made a grasp for power herself. His former lieutenant came to the fore of his mind, and he scowled. Pushing aside thoughts of Sauron for the time being- time enough to locate what remained of him and punish him later- he completed his ascent, and glanced about, unable to see much beyond the gaping black maws of the mountain caves in the fading embers of the sunset. Shadows were abundant in this place. His servant was here, he could sense her presence. But how to get her to reveal herself? Focusing, he attempted a call, mind to mind, speaking in the Black Tongue that had been the common language spoken in his old fortress. Young Arwen had power enough that the call should be heard...

Now, he could do naught but wait. And so he did, standing as a statue atop the peak of this remote mountain, waiting for the full dark of night, when his winged servant would emerge, free of her fear of the light of day. If she had not heard his call, it mattered not- she would appear to feed ere long, he was certain. As he waited, his thoughts wandered: it _was_  odd that she would choose to abide here, so close, on wing, to the elven realm of Imladris, but perhaps she knew not of it- it was not exactly easy to find. Or to depart, as he had learned not long since.

The night's chill had sunk into the very bones of this body, or so it felt- another peculiar sensation- before he espied a shadow wheeling across the moon. Smiling slyly, he turned his face towards the approaching shape and waited.

She descended toward the ground directly before him, her black wings unfurled to their full extent, no doubt in an attempt to look intimidating. Her white garment hung on her like a shroud, red-hued eyes peering through tangled black hair, elongated canines gleaming for just an instant as she let out a sound somewhere between a laugh and a hiss.

“Now, what could bring one so young to trespass willingly into my territory?” She slipped closer, one iron-clawed wing stretching to brush his face, then resting upon his throat. “I do not welcome elflings here, brat. Unless you mean to offer yourself as sustenance... your blood would no doubt taste sweet, child of Luthien's line.” She smiled cruelly, fangs glistening once more.

Morgoth folded his arms, doing all he could with this slight form to appear unimpressed. Of course, in his current guise, Thuringwethil could easily harm him, so he would need to convince her of who he was, and quickly. “Is this how you live now, my winged enchantress? Cowering in caves, feeding only on creatures that stumble across your dwelling?” He shook his head, wishing he had thought to hack some of this absurdly long hair off before attempting this- black tendrils fell across his face, clouding his vision.

Thuringwethil let out another hiss, this one angrier, but a slight edge of wariness was clear in her posture. “What did you call me, whelp?”

The iron claw pressed closer to his throat. He arched a brow, before looking down at the claw, then back into Thuringwethil's scarlet eyes. “Release me, my Secret-Bearer, and I shall explain.” The names of Winged Enchantress and Secret-Bearer that he had once used solely for Thuringwethil, in ages long past, sounded absurd in Arwen's youthful voice, but only he and the vampire before him knew of those names, so using them should go some way towards convincing Thuringwethil of his identity, despite this stolen body.

She took a faltering step away, her eyes narrowed. “ _Who are you?_ ”

Allowing himself to grin, he told her, as quickly and concisely as possible, making sure to add details of his past that none but he and his servants knew, to quell any doubts she had. He waited patiently while she overcame her utter joy at the knowledge that one of Luthien's line- whom she had long hated- had brought this about, and when her chilling laughter came to an end, she sank to her knees before him, her head bowed in submission.

“I am yours to command, as ever, Master, until true death take me.”

He rested a hand atop her head, exulting in the simple pleasure of being able to do such a thing once more, feel the form of a true servant, albeit with flesh not his own. “Aid me in restoring my true form, my loyal messenger, and you will have a place at my right hand, as my honored lieutenant. And,” here he considered how he might best reward her, if she earned such a thing. He _did_ still owe a punishment to young Arwen, for attempting to reveal him, and he always kept his word to his enemies. “I shall allow you to fall upon Elrond's realm, once I am free, and all who dwell therein will be yours to do with as you will.” Imladris meant little to him, after all, beyond a desire to punish Arwen for her defiance, and if Thuringwethil were slain in her conquest, it mattered little. As long as he was restored in truth first.

Thuringwethil's bow deepened until her forehead nearly brushed the ground. “You are generous beyond what I deserve, my lord. I thank you.”

“Thank me when I can cast this form aside, and reclaim my own. Come.” Reaching out, he helped her to her feet. “We have far to travel. I left traces of power that we will need, hidden in marked places throughout this world, but they are many leagues from here. We must hasten to retrieve them. The nearest concealed stronghold I once built is far to the North, if it still remains, as I hope.” If not, there were other, smaller pockets of dark power he had left behind that would serve his purpose. He grimaced, hating to admit to this, loathing any kind of weakness. “This body is ill-suited to long journeys. I will need your strength, and your wings, as we go.”

Keeping her head lowered, Thuringwethil raised her arms, allowing him to decide the least mortifying way to go about this. She was so much taller than him in this form! He settled for wrapping an arm around her shoulders, so he could at least feign control, remaining upright instead of being carried like an invalid.

Gripping his hand with one of her own, Thuringwethil launched herself into the night, the earth beneath them falling away within minutes. The stars wheeled above them as they flew, the icy air of this higher elevation cutting at his skin like knives. How did the Children of Iluvatar _live_ like this, bound in forms that had such weaknesses? And Arwen was of the Eldar, he mused. To be an Edain would be so much worse... Thinking of the young elleth, he cast his mind out to her, closing his eyes so he could see her. The all-too-familiar formless Void swirled around him, and he tensed, casting his thoughts around quickly until he sensed Arwen's presence. _Are you enjoying your new home, Evenstar?_  He mocked.

Her power was ebbing, though the light of it still surrounded her unhoused fea, casting a dim but steady glow within the Void. He could feel her guilt and despair like a living thing, yet there was still defiance in her voice when she replied. _It doesn't matter what you do. In the end, Light will always triumph over Darkness. You were imprisoned before, you will be again._  She tried to sound certain, even as her voice quavered with fear.

Morgoth wanted to snarl at her, but settled for simply shaking his head. _You are wrong. I will not err this time as I did before. This time, I will not be conquered. But fear not, I will allow you your comforting lies for what little time you have left._

Oddly, the light surrounding her brightened, as if she had drawn some strength from his words. _If I die, I will inform Lord Mandos of your actions_.

He laughed, long and loud, within their currently shared thoughts. _You truly know nothing, do you? Die? No, that you will not do. The Children of Iluvatar cannot long endure the Void. You were not made for it. Your few drops of Maiar blood have given you more time, but sooner or later, your spirit will dissolve to nothing, as if you have never been. I will be free, to reclaim the world that is mine, and even if my kin rise against me once more, there will be none who can help you!_ With a mental push, he shoved her away from him, sending her hurtling deeper into the Void. _Enjoy your last days well, little bird_.

Opening his eyes once more, he saw that Thuringwethil now bore him above a ruined fortress. Angmar, he presumed, if the maps he had pored over in Imladris were accurate. The stronghold of some mortal thrall of Sauron's, long defeated. He sighed. The night would wane soon, and they still had many leagues to cover. They would have to halt ere sunrise, and find shelter- it would not do to have his only slave burn to ashes in the accursed light of Arien.

Not before she had outlived her usefulness, anyway.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The POV change is contagious, apparently. Elladan and Elrohir demanded a chapter of their own, so here it is! I hope my writing does them justice. Some liberties have also been taken in this chapter: I have no idea if Elves can really see auras, but in my canon, they can. The Houseless Elves are canon in Tolkien's works, described in The History of Middle Earth Vol 10: Morgoth's Ring, but I have created my own interpretation of them.

Elladan brushed damp strands of his black hair from his eyes, nearly snarling in frustration and glaring up at the sky, from which a fine mist-like rain continued to fall. The weather had turned the hard ground into soft mud, making it far harder to find tracks, and they were already several leagues from home. Where could Arwen have been _going_? Elrohir came to his side, glancing about hopefully. “Have you found anything?”

Elladan shook his head silently. Elrohir cursed. “This makes no sense! It's been more than three days, and there's no sign of Arwen anywhere.” His fists clenching, he turned to face Maglor and Glorfindel, who had joined them on the search at their Adar's insistence. “Remind me again why you're so certain Arwen left home of her own free will?” He thought it far more likely that his younger sister had been abducted, but every time he tried to suggest that, he was ignored.

His eyes narrowed as he saw another secretive look pass between Maglor and Glorfindel. He'd suspected they hadn't told him and his brother everything, especially considering the long, private talks that had happened between them, Adar and Naneth from the moment Arwen had been missed. They had all emerged from those talks with grim expressions and deep worry in their eyes, but what they had discussed had never been explained to the twins. The only outcome had been that Arwen needed to be located, and quickly. Between themselves, the twins had thought that fairly obvious, but then for Adar to only send them, Maglor and Glorfindel to track her down, instead of the usual scouts, was... unusual. That said, Arwen vanishing without a trace was not exactly normal. And the twins had both overheard snatches of conversation between Maglor and Glorfindel, concerning 'restraint' and 'restoring the child', which made little sense to them, but no explanations were given.

“Why have you two stopped?” Glorfindel, already some distance ahead, called back to them.

Elladan rolled his eyes, and replied before Elrohir could signal him to silence. “I doubt it will make much difference, since there is no trail and we have no idea where to look!” His frustration and fear for their sister was obvious- to Elrohir at least- but his tone came across as rude, and Elrohir winced. Of all the things they needed now, an angered Glorfindel was not one of them! He spoke quickly, interrupting just as Glorfindel went to reply.

“All we mean, Captain,” Using Glorfindel's official title among the warriors of Rivendell could not hurt, Elrohir reflected, “Is that it seems fruitless to search in any one direction when there are no indications that Arwen passed this way.” Not to mention, he added silently, that for her to have gotten this far from home in so short a time, at her age, she would almost have to have grown wings!

Maglor stepped up to them, catching Glorfindel's gaze, and an unspoken communication of some kind passed between them, before Glorfindel, scowling, inclined his head in what could barely be called a nod. His expression was grudging and he stalked away, muttering imprecations, as Maglor faced the twins. The elf who was their grandfather in all but blood took a deep breath before addressing them. “Your parents did not want you two to be told this, but we- Glorfindel and I-”

Glorfindel, still with his back turned, cleared his throat loudly. Maglor rolled his eyes. “Fine. _I_  believe you need to understand what's at stake, and what will happen when we do locate your sister.”

A chill ran down Elrohir's spine: something in Maglor's tone made him uneasy. He would not like what he was about to hear. His gaze slid to his twin, to see if he felt the same fear, but Elladan's eyes were fixed on Maglor.

The last scion of Feanor's house sighed heavily, the weight of his Ages of life seeming to press down on his shoulders. “Around a week and a half ago, your naneth sensed something untoward around Arwen's fea. When she confided in your adar and me, I confess we took little notice, for neither of us had detected anything at that point.”

“Arwen has been acting oddly lately...” Elrohir mused, a frown creasing his brow. She had been more quiet, almost withdrawn, rarely interacting with them, before she had vanished. But 'something untoward around her fea'? What could that mean?

“Indeed,” Maglor continued. “Late in the evening, not long before she disappeared, she was in the parlor with me, reading quietly, but for an instant, she looked up at me, with fear in her eyes.” Here he paused, his eyes bleak. “It was as if she struggled to speak, but she managed to inform me that something was wrong, that she was lost in darkness and her body had been stolen, or hijacked somehow. The change was very abrupt. I regret that, in my puzzlement, I did not take proper note of what was said. Her eyes shifted from blue to an unnatural shade of amber, then back again, and after a moment, she raised her head, apologizing for drifting into sleep and speaking of a strange nightmare. She slipped from the room. I... am not certain what happened immediately afterwards: my memory is fuzzy. Once I had gathered my wits, I went to your parents at once, of course. I explained what had happened to them, but by then Arwen was no longer within the House. Our first thought was to search the valley, and by the time that was done, and there was no sign of her, we realized that Arwen- or whatever might be controlling her- had left Rivendell altogether.”

Elrohir's face was ashen. Arwen, possessed somehow? Their sweet little sister who had never harmed anyone, was now in the grasp of some _thing_  that wanted to do who knew what kind of harm? His heart pounded. How could something like that have happened? Why would anyone want to hurt a child like Arwen?

Elladan, however, far from going pale, had gone red in the face from anger. “Our sister is in mortal peril from some foul... _creature_  and our parents did not see fit to tell us this themselves?!”

“Elladan-”

“What, did you just intend to wait until we actually found her, and then inform us that whatever has claimed Arwen's form may try to kill us and we will have to fight her off?”

“Elladan!”

“That's assuming we ever do find her! And this 'trail' you have us on,” He gestured about with his hands spread wide. “Do you have any idea where she- or it- might have gone, or are you just guessing?!”

“El, stop it!” Elrohir's voice cracked with anguish at his brother's words. Bad enough that Arwen was in this horrific situation, out there somewhere, all alone- or not _alone_ , that was the problem- but Elladan's raging, making everyone imagine the worst possible outcomes, was not helping.

Elladan ceased his ranting, but began pacing back and forth, breathing heavily. Elrohir swallowed hard before meeting Maglor's gaze. “ _Do_  you have any idea where we're heading?”

It was Glorfindel who replied, finally striding back over to rejoin them. “Yes. You and your brother may only know this in theory, but every being has a unique aura, and those with the correct training can see them. Arwen's has... altered of late, though none of us with the Sight realized that until this trouble began, but the change has rendered it distinct enough for us to trace. As for why your parents have not accompanied us, as I am sure you're both wondering, they are communing with Lady Galadriel, trying to ascertain precisely what Arwen has been targeted by, and how we might restore her to herself once we have found her.”

Elrohir took a deep breath to calm his nerves. It didn't help much. His voice shook as he spoke. “Is it... one of the Houseless we deal with?” He and Elladan had heard stories of those beings, slain Elves who refused the call of Mandos, lingering in Middle-Earth, shorn of a body, never to be reborn, that hungered for Life and could never attain it. If one such being had invaded Arwen's form... he shuddered at the thought.

Elladan blanched upon hearing those words. “A Houseless? But how Arwen have made contact with such a thing? She has never left home before, save when she accompanies us to Lothlorien! Surely if a Houseless spirit passed into Rivendell, Adar would have sensed it?”

Glorfindel shook his head. “Little is known of the true abilities of the Houseless, but it may well be that one slipped inside your father's protections on your home.” His eyes gleamed with the bright light of the Elves of Valinor. “However this has happened, fear not. We _will_  find Arwen and save her, and whatever fell spirit that is behind this attack, it will be dealt with.”

Elrohir and Elladan exchanged looks. There was confidence in Glorfindel's words, and without speaking, they both resolved to believe him. It was the best way to get through this. Doubting would only drive them mad with fear.

Still, as they resumed the search, allowing Glorfindel and Maglor to lead the way, following the trail of the aura that only they could see, Elrohir felt a nagging unease. In the tales he had read in his youth, stories meant to thrill and frighten, it was stated that in a fight for a living form, the Houseless and the true owner of the body grappled for control, and in so doing, risked bodily injury. According to Maglor's words, assuming he had made contact with the real Arwen, she had claimed to be lost in some darkness, unaware of what was happening. That did not fit into the stories he had read concerning the Houseless...

The tales told to children could not know everything, though, he decided. The true details of an encounter with one of the Houseless could have been forgotten, or left out. Glorfindel and Maglor (and presumably Adar and Naneth) were certain that it was one such creature that had stolen Arwen, and Elrohir trusted their judgement. Besides, if not a Houseless Elf, what else could be behind this?


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So there's a surprise cameo in this chapter: even I didn't know this was going to happen until it did. I hope it makes sense...

Arwen drifted amidst the endless darkness. The faint and fading glow that seemed to be lighting her from within was her only source of illumination, and that weak light appeared to be all that remained of her. Yet even that dimmed further and further. How long did she have before the shapeless light that was now her only form flickered and then ceased to be? She had no sense of how long had passed since Morgoth, for now she knew it was he, had flung her weakening spirit further from Arda, deeper into the Void. Were her parents and brothers, and Daerada Maglor, looking for her yet? Would it be safe for them if they did, since it would not be her they found within her body, but the world's first Enemy. She had tried to warn Daerada Maglor... when? How long ago had that been? The memory was faint, she could not recall exactly what she had said. If it had truly happened at all... Everything that had been before the Void seemed impossibly out of reach now- sound, warmth, light... There was nothing but this, now.

_'Will you let Him win, then, Child of Iluvatar? Will you allow His darkness to smother your light without even a struggle?'_

A still, small voice echoed in her mind, making her start, for in the fathomless silence of the Void, even that calm whisper was deafening. She did not respond, not knowing where the voice came from, and having had more than enough of being deceived by disembodied beings- that was how she'd stupidly got herself into this mess, after all. And yet... _was_  she just going to give up? Let Morgoth claim her body, harm all the people she loved, while she wasted to nothing, to fade as if she had never even existed?

 _No_. Images of her beloved family flashed through her mind, and, clinging to the surge of longing that gave her, she allowed it to flow through her, providing some manner of warmth to combat the Void's emptiness. The glow that had emanated from her seemed to pulse, almost, and slowly, she forced off the numbing cold of this terrible place, and became aware of feeling in her limbs once again. Despite only being here in spirit, she had an awareness of what she should look like, and the light coalesced around her, turning the dim glow of her unclad fea into an intangible version of her true form.

Faint as it was, the light stung her eyes, and yet she almost laughed. _This is the Light that is my spirit,_ she stated, as if just realizing that. _As long as I will it, I will survive_. True, she still had no idea of how she would get out of here, but- wait. Get out of here. Back when she had first foolishly spoken with Morgoth, thinking him a friend, her dreams had borne her here. Had that been some manner of warning sent to her? If only she had heeded.... But, in that true-dream, Morgoth had guided her from the Void, through some enormous Door, and then she had woken in the real world. But, if that Door was real.... could she find it? Pass through, and attempt to communicate with... someone about what was going on?

It was a slim hope, but she could see no other option. Even if Daerada Maglor had heard and believed her, and told her parents, what could they do? Ada was powerful, Arwen knew that, but against the fallen Vala...

Concentrating hard, she willed herself to move forward. She had to believe that it was working, despite the fact that the view around her- or the utter lack thereof- did not change. Surely the Void could not go on for _ever_? She just needed to keep moving, and then she would, eventually, find the Door she had seen. She tried to cling to that hope, but the more she moved, or thought that she did, the less certain she was. Yet she kept searching, for what else could she do?

What was happening to her family right now? The thought stole over her, and she fought the urge to whimper. Any of them could be talked into being alone with 'her', and then there would be nothing to prevent Morgoth from doing whatever he pleased. Because of her own trusting stupidity. She felt tears on her face, despite not even having a physical form, and renewed her search for the gigantic carved Door, or some other way out of here- she had to save her family!

“Someone, please help me!” She cried in a moment of despair. The Void swallowed most sound, so no echo remained of her plea, and yet, something changed. Arwen froze where she was, staring upward. Was that a _star?_ In the Void? How could that be? Did her eyes, such as they were in this ghostly form, play tricks on her? The light struck her as beautiful, as if she had never seen a star before, and she remained where she was, transfixed, as it... moved closer?

The light intensified, and actually cast light upon the Void's nothingness. Arwen felt drawn to it, somehow finding more strength to maintain herself while bathed in this glorious, many-hued radiance. What was this light that burned brighter even than the Sun? She had never heard of anything like it, outside of tales of-

She gasped as the light drew ever closer, revealing itself to be a beacon of some kind, blazing from the deck of a ship that was wrought of white-wood, with golden oars and silver sails. The vessel seemed to be filled with a light of its own, but the light that had so drawn Arwen sprung from a jewel bound about the brow of the being that stood at the tiller.

He was tall, and fair of face, white-skinned, with golden hair and eyes like sapphires. He was an Elf, she thought, although his ears were rounder, less curved than most, much like those of her own Ada. He seemed almost to glisten, as if he gave off light of his own accord. He did not seem to see her, at first, looking about himself and speaking in a puzzled tone.

“Cold and pathless as ever, and yet... the air of menace here seems lessened.” His face contorted into a frown. “Does the Enemy plot something?”

He stayed still for a few minutes, before shaking his head, and turning as if to leave.

 _'No!'_ Arwen let out a scream of desperation, though he did not react, and it was clear he could not hear her. She had recognized this man from her dream-walks in the past, and even if she had not, the brilliant jewel and the illuminated ship would have told her that this was Earendil, Ada's birth father. She needed to make him see her, tell him what was going on: he couldn't leave her here!

Flinging herself into his path, she 'reached' out for anything that could give her more strength, make her visible.

The jewel- the Silmaril- upon Earendil's brow pulsed, and she _felt_  its energy surge into her. She didn't know what she had done or how she had done it, but clearly it had worked, for now Earendil's eyes widened. He could see her!

But now what could she do? She had never met Earendil- he had not even seen Ada since his childhood, so how was he to believe her if she told him she was his granddaughter? Let alone the rest of the tale she needed to tell, and quickly- how could she convince him?

He stared at her, mouth all but hanging open. “A fea? But such things do not dwell in this place... How came you to be here, little one?”

Arwen hesitated, and then spoke rapidly, outlining the whole story, how Morgoth had tricked her and stolen her body, her inability to find a way back, her fear for her family- she omitted to mention just who was in that family. There would be time enough to explain her identity to Earendil once _something_  had been done to stop Morgoth.

Not that she had any idea what. But, judging from the grim set of Earendil's face, and the fierce determination she could see in his eyes, he had some thoughts on the matter.

“I knew something was amiss- I have not sensed His presence in this place for too long. It is well for you that I sought to investigate this now. Come. We will need further aid to resolve this, and I know not how long you will survive in this condition, child. We must hasten.” He turned and strode back aboard his ship, Vingilot, and Arwen followed, staying close to him, and to the Silmaril. Odd as it was, the hallowed-cursed jewel seemed to replenish her strength, allowing her to maintain the wraith-like form that resembled her stolen body.

Soon the ship was aloft once more, and Arwen, insubstantial but surviving, for now, watched with awe as they travelled towards the very Doors she had been seeking, and through them.

It occurred to her then, that Vingilot, and Earendil, would be going to Valinor, Earendil's home, in the uttermost West. Fear coursed through her, but she hid it. Her body was in Middle-Earth: what would become of her fea if it reached Valinor, so far from her home? The only Elves without bodies that reached Valinor did so by way of Mandos' halls. She did not want to die! She struggled to quell her doubts. The Valar reigned in Valinor. The most powerful beings in all of Arda would surely know a way to stop Morgoth, and restore her in time to keep her from fading...


	12. Chapter 12

Morgoth gazed around the tumbled ruins of what had once been a shrine to his power, when the earliest generation of Men had awoken, and worshipped him as they ought, before they had struck out westwards, and turned from him to become servants of the Valar, siding with the Eldar against him, in a time long lost to history and legend. All that remained of the black temple was heaps of rubble, coated in the snow and ice that lay everywhere this far north, but the power that had been gathered here remained. The Earth remembered, the very soil appearing charred and scorched, despite none having been here for years uncounted, and the very air seemed to crackle, ozone waiting for lightning to strike.

Thuringwethil had set him down and retreated some distance, her head bowed. They had spent all the night flying to reach this place. Now another dawn beckoned, and that meant waiting still longer, until night fell once again, before beginning his Song of Power that would bend the reality of time and space, and draw the Void closer to this place. That needed to be done in darkness.

In the meantime, he stepped closer to the vampire, frowning when a feeling of light-headedness swept over him, causing his vision to blur and swim. Gritting his teeth, he planted his feet- or rather, Arwen's feet, he supposed, though it mattered not- and waited for the bizarre feeling to subside. When he felt slightly steadier, he looked up- to find that Thuringwethil had edged still further away from him, and now had one hand clamped to her mouth and nose.

He sneered at her, well aware that this would have been more effective if he had been in his own skin. “What are you _doing_?”

“Forgive me, Master.” Again, she edged backwards, her words muffled as she spoke through her hand, still keeping her mouth and nose covered as if she scented something distasteful. “I am well aware of who you truly are, but the form you have acquired... blood still courses through its veins, and I... I have not fed for a long time.” She huddled even smaller, as if fearing a reprimand- or forcing herself to remain still.

He stood stock-still, not having even considered that as a possible risk. He knew of Thuringwethil's hungers, of course, but surely she could control herself enough not to endanger him? And yet... he had had her fly them here over two nights, taking shelter in a deep, cramped cave during the day to avoid the Sun, and he had not thought to allow her to search out prey during their journey. “Why did you not inform me sooner that you required sustenance?” He demanded, scowling.

She let out a disgruntled hiss. “I deemed your freedom to be of greater importance than my own appetites, Master. Was I mistaken in that?”

“Mind how you speak to me.” He snapped in warning, wishing, with a flicker of unease, that he had even a fraction of his true power at hand, to fend her off if need be. Sadly, he did not. “No, you were not mistaken, but think you my freedom will come to pass if you cannot restrain yourself from slaughtering the only form I presently have?”

A cool wind blew from behind him, fanning Arwen's black tendrils out, and Thuringwethil recoiled. Now he could see that the hand still clamped to her jaw had shifted slightly. Her fangs had extended, meaning she was closer to losing control completely. Her eyes grew wild, gleaming scarlet, and she inched closer, a low growl in her throat. He stood tall and squared his shoulders, endeavoring to look as menacing as possible. “The Sun will rise soon.” He glanced towards the eastern horizon. “Get you gone, and find shelter, lest you wish to burn to naught.” His tone was commanding, but sounded absurd in Arwen's voice. He just hoped that Thuringwethil still had enough reason to heed his words. "Find some vermin to sate yourself upon while you're about it."

For an instant, the vampire's face was feral. He held her gaze, challenging, waiting. She, luckily, was the first to break eye contact, her body language becoming submissive, giving him another bow, as she extended her great wings to take flight. Her whole face was set now, rigid, as if she fought for every second of coherent thought. With a sound like echoing thunder, she launched herself skyward and was gone, winging her way southward. He could not help but shudder with relief once he was alone. With luck, Thuringwethil would happen across some small animal or lizard, if nothing else, and slake some of her hunger upon it, as he had ordered. He cared not what she chose to feed upon, as long as it was not this form that his presence here currently depended upon.

Of course, once left alone, he had little to do but wait for the day to pass so that he could begin the great work of freeing his true self from imprisonment, but it was better than being eaten!

To amuse himself, he let his mind drift back into the Void, hiding the hate he felt for the not-a-place, casting his thought to where his true form awaited, ageless and unchanging, and from there 'listening' for any whisper of what now remained of young Arwen's fea- little enough by now, he supposed, but it would still please him to gloat as what remained of the elleth ceased to Be.

Except... the Void was empty. As empty as it had been when he dwelt there alone. No trace of the young elleth's spirit seemed to be there. A shiver of unease rippled through him. _It is merely that she is weaker than I supposed_ , he told himself. _Her strength ran out and the Void claimed her_. And yet... a small, nagging doubt refused to leave him. What if that was _not_  what had happened, what if she had found a way out, somehow, and was attempting to find help?

Shaking his head, he laughed at his own foolishness. He, the mightiest of the Valar, had been trapped in the Void for over an Age and found no escape, and yet he feared that the _child_  who did not even know enough to protect her own body from possession, had managed it?

“Nonsense.” He murmured to himself. “Utter nonsense. Silly little Arwen has simply faded into Nothing.” Which meant only time stood between him and his triumphant return, for, with Arwen gone, there was no-one who knew of his freedom.

He let out a chilling laugh, which echoed through his former temple, noting with some pleasure that his voice now _sounded_ more like his own- unexpected, but welcome. The sooner he could shed the 'skin' of this child, the better. “And then, the Valar... the Elves... the Men... they will all pay for their crimes against me.” He grinned as he completed his thought aloud, relishing the way the voice of this body had changed, becoming more like to the voice of his true form. He knew not why that was happening, and so simply took it as a sign that his plan of regaining his freedom would succeed.

Closing his eyes, he let himself picture the future he wished for: himself, King of all Arda, all those who had ever opposed him broken and grovelling at his feet, with none left to challenge his rightful rule... All things ordered as he wished, and as he deserved.

There was a distant rumble of thunder towards the West, but he, with his eyes still closed, glorying in his imagined future, took no note, assuming it was Thuringwethil still in flight, fleeing the rapid rise of the Sun.

It did not even occur to him that she had flown South, while the cloudless thunder sprung from the furthest West.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone is interested, this is how I'm picturing the ruined temple in this chapter:
> 
> https://cdn.pixabay.com/photo/2014/12/10/23/50/ruins-563629_960_720.jpg
> 
> I found the image on Google. I don't own it, I'm just borrowing it for reference purposes.


	13. Chapter 13

Arwen could do nothing but tremble with mingled awe and terror as she followed Earendil. She had remained close to him, and the Silmaril, on his journey through the night skies, heading ever westward, but as time had passed, the half-transparent form she had managed to make visible wavered and vanished. She could still speak to Earendil, mind to mind, but lacked the strength to maintain in a form that he could see. His face had tightened as she 'vanished', putting more effort into his steering, and Vingilot had picked up speed. He intentionally kept the ship aloft as they passed over Eldamar, the Elven realms of Valinor, explaining to her that this was the fastest way to travel. Once they had passed Vanyamar, however, the ship had descended. Leaving Vingilot behind, he had set off on foot not long ago. Bearing the Silmaril, he strode through Valmar, the city of the Valar, towards Taniquetil, the mountain atop which rested the dwelling of Manwe and Varda. Arwen followed, feeling an urge to keep close to the only person who actually knew that she was there, who stood a chance of finding help for her, and her family, back in Middle-Earth, heedless of the danger they were in. Despite her fears, she found herself staring at her surroundings, wide-eyed at the grandeur she could see. Never in her life had she imagined seeing these places, and to do so under these circumstances, when her foolishness had imperiled all of Arda... She knew she deserved some punishment, but feared what, exactly, would be done to her for unwittingly freeing Morgoth from his imprisonment.

At the very foot of Taniquetil, Earendil hesitated, squaring his shoulders before turning, looking about as if trying to guess where she was. Concentrating, she managed to make herself visible, just, although the effort involved left her feeling exhausted, and even she could tell that her wraith-like form was fainter than it had been.

How much time did she have left?

Earendil's face turned grim, as if he was having the same thoughts. “I would not usually approach Taniquetil without being invited, for fear of offending the Valar, but in this situation, I fear we have no choice. Stay as close to me as you can. And,” he cast a worried glance at her. “Just... try to hold on.” He began ascending the mountain, climbing fast, so that Arwen, even here only in fea, was hard pressed to keep up.

They traveled upwards rapidly- Earendil was all but running- and before half the day had passed, the highest peak became visible, high above them. Oiolosse, the highest peak of Taniquetil, upon which rested the mansion of Manwe and Varda. Arwen let out a shudder. For Earendil to have broken all protocol and come _here_ without explicit permission... the danger posed by Morgoth, trapped in her form, must be even greater than she had imagined. It appeared that all his awe of the Elder King and the Star-Kindler had not vanished, however, for at this point Earendil halted, dropping to one knee deferentially, bowing his golden head, before turning his gaze skyward and calling out loudly in Quenya, a language that Arwen spoke little of. She did manage to make out odd words here and there: something about supplication, aid being required, the word 'innocent', a grave threat, and Moringotto- the Quenya form of Morgoth's name- but the rest of Earendil's words were unintelligible to her.

There was silence for an endless moment- even the ever-present chill winds seemed to have ceased, and then, out of nowhere, there was an utterly _deafening_ crack of thunder, as if the very sky had bellowed its rage at Earendil's tale. The sound made the very mountain tremble, or so it seemed, and surely the clamor had been heard throughout Arda, as powerful as it was.

Then two Beings, far taller than any Elf, and blazing with light that made the Silmaril seem pale in comparison, appeared high above them, descending rapidly to join Earendil and herself. The glare was too bright for Arwen to look at, even as she was, here only in fea, and she ducked her head, hoping it would seem to be a bow, and not her cowering from them.

For these Beings could be none other than Manwe and Varda themselves, the mightiest and most holy of the Valar, and the thought of facing them after what she had let Morgoth trick her into doing...

Two pairs of ancient, fathomless eyes, one an azure blue, the pupil ringed with gold, the other incandescent, white, but somehow also holding every color in the spectrum, seared straight through her, and she was too afraid even to run. Memories of her first conversations with Morgoth, and the events that had followed, streamed through Arwen's mind, and she just knew that the two Valar were seeing all of it as clearly as she was. She wanted to run and hide, but running from mistakes only made matters worse. She forced herself to remain where she was, and wait and see what punishment, what judgement, would be meted out to her for her crimes. As long as Morgoth was stopped and her family were safe, she told herself, it did not matter what became of her now.

She would gladly take whatever chastisement or punishment she was given. As long as the people she loved were saved.


	14. Chapter 14

Maglor's very fea shuddered in distaste, or so it felt, as he, Glorfindel, Elladan and Elrohir drew close to an ancient structure, ice-coated ruins made of some kind of black stone. Arda itself seemed scarred or blackened here in some manner, and his deepest instincts were urging him to flee. Yet this was where the trail of Arwen's aura had led them, and, several hours ago, there had been a deafening crack of thunder issuing from the West, that filled the entire sky. As that noise had sounded, he had felt a surge of unease and impatience wash over him, as if something or Someone meant to tell him that time ran short. Glorfindel, when consulted, had admitted to the same feelings, and so they had pressed on faster than they had been, reaching this... place a mere few hours after sunrise.

Elladan and Elrohir, winded from the sudden increase in their speed, were laboring for breath. “What is... this place?” Elrohir managed, looking from Glorfindel to Maglor for an explanation. “We didn't know... there was ever... a dwelling here.”

Indeed, there were no known records of anyone dwelling in this frozen, eerie place, in the midst of the Forodwaith, directly north of Angmar, as the small group of Men who did dwell in this region, known as the Lossoth, whom they had carefully steered clear of to avoid awkward questions and delays on their journey, kept to the more southern regions of the Northern Wastes, near the Ice-bay of Forochel, and did not venture this far north. But this was where Arwen's trail had led, and here it ceased, so she had to be here somewhere. Or rather, her stolen hroa and its current occupant did.

“There is an ill feeling in this place,” Elladan broke the silence, his eyes wary. “Why would even a Houseless elf bring its stolen form here? Has this region not been frigid and uninhabited since the First Age?” He looked further northward to where, in days of old, before Beleriand had sunk, the nameless Enemy's fortress of Angband had stood, tainting this land forever.

Maglor did not reply. He was reaching out with his mind, seeing if he could sense any trace of another living being in this desolate ruin. The hairs on the back of his neck were standing on end, and Elladan's mention of the Houseless that they believed had taken Arwen's form was no longer sitting well with him. It just felt... wrong. No Houseless, no matter how warped it had become, would be drawn to one of Morgoth's old haunts, surely?

“Arwen!” Elrohir's shout, almost deafening in the oppressive silence of Forodwaith, made them all jump, turning to stare at him. He glowered back. “What?! If she- or whatever has stolen her- is here-”

“You think some fell thing that is capable of stealing the hroa of an elfling will respond to her name being called?” Glorfindel retorted.

“Well, what else are we to do?!” Elladan gestured about himself wildly. “This place appears deserted! Unless we split up to search every inch of it-”

“No!” Maglor's voice came out harsher than he had intended, but the intangible feeling of _wrongness_ was only increasing the longer they remained here. It tugged at his memory, ancient, _wrong_ , but... familiar, somehow. “We stay together, and do not venture into any part of this place that the Sun does not reach.” For some reason, the very thought of any of them stepping into darkness in this place made him recoil. Why did the atmosphere here taunt him so? He closed his eyes again, clearing his mind, trying to think of _when_ he had last felt this nameless dread. It had been long ago, he was certain of that much. His thoughts carried him back to his youth, thousands of years in the past...

_He stood concealed behind a pillar in the entrance hall of Formenos, where he and his atar and brothers had been exiled to, some years ago, for Atar's drawing a blade upon his half-brother. Atar stood at the open door, his dark gaze riveted on whoever had come calling, oblivious to his son's presence. The very air seemed to have gained weight, and every nerve in Makalaurë's body was on edge. He could not see who was speaking. The visitor's voice and words were fair, yet his sense of danger would not be silenced, and he found himself biting his tongue to keep from screaming. He did not know why, but something was badly wrong here. Atar should just step away, return inside and close the door._

_Mere moments later, Fëanáro did just that. “Get thou gone from my gate, thou gangrel, jail-crow of Mandos!” His voice was full of his usual arrogance and anger, and the door slammed shut, loud enough to make Makalaurë wince. Fëanáro strode away without even realizing Makalaurë was nearby, and so he remained where he was, stricken with horror as his atar's words sank in. 'Jail-crow of Mandos'... that could only refer to Melkor. Atar had just insulted and slammed the door in the face of one of the most powerful beings in Ea. The heavy, crushing atmosphere remained for several minutes, and Makalaurë scarcely dared to breathe for the inexplicable feeling of fear. Finally, the pressure eased, and he presumed Melkor must have departed. Still, it took many more minutes before he could bring himself to move._

“Maglor!” Glorfindel's voice, although low, was sharp, jarring him out of his memory. “Are you well? You're white as a sheet.”

He pushed Glorfindel away, staggering for a few steps, 'feeling' the atmosphere of this old temple again, praying to whomever might be listening that he was wrong, or that this place merely retained old memories of He who had once walked here. The alternative- that Morgoth was somehow _present_  in this place- chilled him to the very bones. He inhaled shakily several times, trying to force his thoughts into some kind of order, hoping to disprove his fears.

Celebrian had spoken of some shadow of fear about her daughter taking root in her mind, and the elfling had begun acting strangely, becoming withdrawn and quiet.

Arwen had managed to communicate to him, with no small effort, her eyes shifting from her silver-blue, to a strange, piercing amber, that she was trapped somewhere dark, that some other force had seized her body, mere hours before she had disappeared from her home, leading to them having to search for her, tracking her to this dread place.

The menacing atmosphere that clung to this old ruin was the same as Maglor had felt, eons ago, when Morgoth, or Melkor as he had been known back then, had approached Feanor at Formenos, shortly before the Darkening of Valinor.

He shook his head, his hands trembling. It was not possible, could not be, and yet...

A chilly, mocking laugh sounded, deep, male, and not a little mad, and the very day seemed to darken as quiet footsteps sounded, then Arwen stepped around a corner into view. “I wondered which of you would be the first to work out my identity.” The voice coming from Arwen's mouth bore traces of her true voice, but it was no longer that of a child, or even of an Elf. Old as the mountains, deep as the fathomless Sea, it froze Maglor's blood in his veins, for it was Morgoth's own voice, a voice he would never forget, utterly obscene sounding from the mouth of a child he had known since her birth.

Distantly, he noticed the gleeful, triumphant look on 'Arwen's' face, as well as how thin she had become- a great deal of weight had dropped from her, very quickly, and her skin was deathly white and sallow. Her eyes were the horrific frozen-fire amber that belonged only to Morgoth. Those terrifying eyes gleamed with malice. “Maglor Feanorian, Glorfindel the mighty Balrog-slayer, and Elladan and Elrohir, the two noble sons of Elrond Peredhel. I am honored to have such exalted company to witness my return to my rightful place in Arda.” Another bone-chilling laugh sounded. All of them had cringed, recoiling at the sounds of their names, as if hearing them uttered by such a voice was as a blow struck against them.

Beside Maglor, Glorfindel let out a cry of horror and anguish. He did not know what the golden-haired Noldo had sensed, but clearly he suspected something of what was wrong, as he was now seizing hold of the twins, pulling them away from this creature that was no longer little Arwen, standing before them as a shield, silencing their protests with hands over their mouths. Maglor struggled to stand tall and not cower, though fear was coursing through his veins. How could this have happened, was not Morgoth's prison in the Void watched ceaselessly? How had he managed to force his own black spirit into Arwen's innocent form? What had become of the elfling's fea, was it trapped in the Void in his place?

More to the point, how in Iluvatar's name were they going to conjure the power to remove him, return him to his banishment, without seriously injuring or killing Arwen? And even if they somehow found the strength to do that, what of Arwen's own spirit? How could that be restored?

Crippling despair warred with a fierce desire to protect his adopted family no matter what, and Maglor cast his eyes to the heavens, even as he stepped forward, his arms outstretched, preventing Arwen/Morgoth from even being able to see Glorfindel and the twins. _Eru Iluvatar, Manwë Sulimo, Varda Elentari... if ever you cared for the Eldar, set aside my sins and betrayals! Lend me the strength and knowledge I need to protect my family._

Morgoth, his expression one of utter triumph, made to step forwards, hand outstretched towards Maglor. “How pitiful, that one such as you, a Kinslayer and a forgotten exile, still expects my brethren to aid you in anything.”

Maglor could not help but falter, unadulterated fear seizing him at what, exactly, might happen if Morgoth made contact with him now- who knew which of his powers the fallen Vala could access while in this stolen form?

Bright-white lightning streaked across the cloudless sky, striking the ground between Maglor and Morgoth, tumbling them both to the floor, leaving no small distance between them. The blazing light did not cease when the lightning faded, and Maglor's eyes were seared badly enough that he could see nothing but blurs. Groping sideways, he managed to reach Glorfindel's hand, and heard his friend whisper that he had the twins, they were safe, but he could not see, before a furious bellowing roar of pure rage issued from Morgoth, sending deep reverberations through the ruins of the black temple, and the ice that surrounded it.

Ominous cracking and rumbling sounded, and Maglor had only a split second to decide what to do, as the stones of the ruins, and the glaciers nearby, began shifting and crumbling. Without hesitation, he flung himself forward, shielding Glorfindel, Elladan and Elrohir from the avalanche as best he could with his own body. Terror for Arwen still held him in its grip, but he could not help her now. He could only protect Glorfindel and the twins, and pray that whatever entity had arrived and incited such rage within Morgoth, would be able to find a way to spare the child he had ensnared in his foul plan.

 _Please, Eru... spare my family. All of them_. It was all he could focus on as rocks, snow and ice continued to cascade around them all, crashing into him like ceaseless blows from the Vala Aulë's hammer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter now has a beautiful illustration, drawn by my talented friend, huanthehoundofvalinor, posted on Tumblr. It's the scene where the Elves approach the ruined temple, as Maglor's unease grows, and Elrohir calls out to Arwen.
> 
> https://66.media.tumblr.com/456feb7901a2b531e96bcc077855902b/c32b375edcb1f343-f3/s640x960/1f87611b76908a5a2d60e9b31ac6d885983153f5.jpg


	15. Chapter 15

Morgoth stared in furious disbelief, his stolen face contorted in rage, as the debris unleashed by his bellow of anger ceased falling, and the bright-white form of a Maia remained where it was, between him and the four now-buried elves. It took him a moment, as Arwen's eyes could not immediately endure such brightness, but soon he could make out a figure that appeared as male, bearing an ornate longsword with a large, single sapphire in the hilt which was carved into the likeness of the outspread wings of an Eagle. The Maia stood tall, in a warrior's defensive stance, with wings of light half again as tall as he was rising behind him.

“Eönwë.” He all but spat the hated name of his brother's most powerful Maia and Herald. Under normal circumstances, Eönwë would pose no threat to him, but as his current form was a half-grown elleth, with almost none of his power at his disposal, then he was in an unpalatable situation. He could fight- indeed, he longed to do just that- but as things stood, he would lose. Talking, for now, delaying the assault that Eönwë would be sure to launch any second, was his best hope at this moment.

He schooled his- Arwen's- face into something that resembled mere curiosity. “A personal visit from Manwë's own herald. I am honored.” He mock bowed, letting a grin cross his face, hoping to appear nonchalant, unconcerned. “Am I to assume the 'Elder King' himself will deign to appear to greet me also?” He noted, as he spoke, that as before, when he had addressed the Elves, although the voice he used still sounded somewhat like Arwen's, beneath it, his own true voice could be heard, as if both of them were speaking simultaneously.

Eönwë, unfortunately, did not respond to his needling. His only response to Morgoth's words was to draw his sword. The weapon, which had been gifted to Eönwë by Manwë himself, if Morgoth recalled correctly, glowed with its own inner light, and he involuntarily recoiled from it. The sensation was more jarring than he had expected, and to his dismay and horror, he realized that somehow, the Power in the blade was driving _him_ away, loosening his hold on Arwen's stolen hroa, making the elleth's body stumble, dangerously close to falling. He concentrated with all his might, willing himself to keep the body he had stolen. He would _not_  be cast back into the nothingness of the Void!

The sounds of stirring, and faint groans, sounded from the heap of rubble where Maglor, Glorfindel and the twins sons of Elrond were buried. Perfect, Morgoth groused silently. The destruction that he had unleashed had not even killed _one_ of them. He should have bade Thuringwethil to take shelter nearby instead of speeding her off- she would be too far away to be of any help now. He was alone for this battle.

Too late he realized he should never have taken his attention from Eönwë, for now the Maia was striding purposefully closer to him, and the Power he was emitting as he brandished that accursed sword was causing Morgoth's hold on his current form to erode still further. He tried to back away, to get out of range, but Arwen's limbs would not obey him. It was as if he struggled to move while trapped within a solid steel suit of armor that was too large for him- his movements were clumsy, slow and all but impossible to control. If that blade actually made contact with him, he knew he would lose this body altogether, but there was no clear way to avoid it.

Eönwë still advanced on him, his eyes blazing with wrath, though the Maia had not yet said a single word. In his peripheral vision, Morgoth could see the son of Feanor freeing himself, then pulling free first Glorfindel, then the sons of Elrond, from the wreckage. None of them appeared injured beyond being sore and bruised. Panic welled within him. How had this plan, that he had thought nearly foolproof, gone so wrong so quickly?

Finally managing to put some distance between himself and Eönwë, albeit by almost falling over in the process, Morgoth managed to raise a trembling hand to try and halt the Maia's silent approach. He had no idea why was it such an effort to make such a small movement. He also became aware that there was something warm streaming from his/Arwen's nose, dripping onto his mouth, something warm and coppery, which was strange. “I concede defeat,” He all but hissed, hating to say this aloud, even if it was nothing more than a likely vain attempt to buy more time. “As ever, the mighty, pious Valar have managed to overcome me, without even troubling to discover what I sought in my return.”

“You were exiled from Ea, Fallen One.” Eönwë spoke at last, his euphonious, clear voice sounding louder than a trumpet. “Your return will never be permitted while the Elder King sits upon Taniquetil.”

Morgoth nearly snarled at that, but did not quite manage it. He could feel the currents of the air pulling him this way and that, and only then did he realize that he had already been cut free from Arwen's body, which lay limp and unmoving at his feet. Eönwë took one more step, sword arm extended, his position making it clear he was guarding the elfling's body from Morgoth's re-entering it. Cursing Eönwë, Manwë, all the Valar, and Iluvatar, Morgoth turned his gaze to the four Elves nearby, all watching with awe, fear and horror in their gazes. He wondered what, if anything, they could see of his presence here now that he was without a physical form. Desperation, and dread of dwelling in the Void once more, gave rise to a half-formed thought. _Perhaps I could take one of their forms, if I were to move quickly enough..._

The Elrondionnath were to the back of the group, being restrained from coming closer by Glorfindel and Maglor. Morgoth considered. The Feanorian had much darkness in his fea, due to the foolish Oath he and his father and brothers had sworn, so long ago. It was possible that he could seize Maglor's form. Not ideal, but better than being forced back into the Void. Locking eyes with the exiled Noldo, he felt a surge of anticipation as Maglor cringed from his gaze, and prepared to surge across the space between them, to dive into that scarred, haunted fea and take refuge there, when _another_  brilliant light surged, this one coming from... above, somehow, driving Morgoth's houseless spirit back once more.

When he recognized the source of this light, he could not keep himself from snarling. _The Silmaril. Earendil_. Here, in broad daylight?! It was absurd, and yet, there was Vingilot, in plain view, descending rapidly from the heavens. The Silmaril's hallowed light burned Morgoth as it ever had, even unclad as he was, and he could go no closer to the Elves.

He turned his attention to Earendil himself instead, as comprehension dawned. Of course, the famed Mariner was here. He was likely the reason that Morgoth's plot had been discovered, with his 'duty' to survey the Void, and make sure Morgoth had not managed to free himself.

Earendil's face was grim, and he stood firm, though his eyes did widen as he took in the presence of Elrond's sons. Did he know who they were, Morgoth wondered, or guess at it, since black-haired twins only seemed to occur in the Peredhil line? Did he know these were his own grandsons, and that, prior to Arwen's being devoured by the Void, he had had a granddaughter?

But, wait.... Morgoth felt another presence aboard Vingilot, a familiar one. So faint as to barely be there, and yet... Recognizing the 'shape' of the all-but-faded fea as young Arwen's, it dawned on him that she had to have been the one to alert Earendil, and set in motion the ruin of this scheme. Now his wrath did master him, and not heeding the pain caused by the Silmaril, he hurled his immaterial form at Vingilot, aiming for what little wisps remained of Arwen's fea, present but not visible. She might have ensured that he could not return as he wished, and he might well be cast back to the Void, but if so, he would make _certain_ that she would be punished for what she had cost him- she would not remain within Ea either!

Earendil let out a cry of horror as Morgoth drew closer, but the Mariner and his jewel were not his target- not this day. The shadow-thing that was Morgoth's only form within Arda now buried itself deep into the diaphanous tatters that remained of Arwen's fea, ripping and tearing, intent on doing enough harm that there would truly be naught left of her.

“ENOUGH.” Eönwë's voice now filled the entire area, from the Earth to the very sky, and there was Power in his words. “Back to the Void, Evil One.”

Morgoth was torn away from Arwen before he could be certain she was gone, and he found himself cast adrift for an instant, during which he heard Eönwë's blade slicing through the air, and felt reality split asunder, the sword creating a rip in time and space, a vacuum that blasted out all-too-familiar icy cold darkness. Morgoth screamed in rage as he was dragged backwards, but it happened too fast for him to struggle to break free.

Then, all was Nothing, as it had been for two long Ages before he had ever made contact with foolish young Arwen. He bellowed and roared his fury into the emptiness, but it did no good. He could no longer even make any sound, and there were none to hear him if he did.

Exile, darkness, cold, utter emptiness, and hatred of his captors, were all that he had once more. _At least_ , he mused, _I had one small victory_. For surely Arwen had been utterly destroyed in his last assault against her fea. It was small solace for his being back where he had begun, but it was better than knowing he had failed utterly. That he had seen to the destruction of the youngest scion of Luthien's line cheered him, and would sustain him in his imprisonment for some time yet. _My enemies will have a triumph, but a hollow one, as they always have when thwarting My will_.

 

* * *

**Translations: Elrondionnath- sons of Elrond.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Regarding the part in this chapter where Eönwë carries Manwë's own sword, that is adapted from earlier versions of the Valar and Maiar in the Book of Lost Tales, when Eönwë was known as Fionwë and was Manwë's son. I liked the idea, so I've used it here. Apart from anything else, I think he would need a powerful, blessed weapon to exorcise Morgoth from Arwen's body and send him back to the Void. The appearance of the sword as I described it is entirely my own invention. The idea that Eönwë has wings comes from a discussion I had with The_Long_Defeat. Maiar are often thought of as angels, so I figured, why not?


	16. Chapter 16

Elladan was trying not to grimace- it felt as if every inch of his body was bruised from being half-buried in rocks and other debris, and, on top of that, the dazzling lights emanating from the Maia- _Eönwë_ \- and from the huge ship that somehow hovered in the sky above them all, were searing his eyes and making it hard to see. Tears of pain ran unchecked down his face, while he struggled to overcome the terror that had held him (and the others) rooted to the spot while Eönwë had faced off with Arwen- or whatever the creature possessing her had been. (He knew who it had been, had heard that dread voice, heard the name Eönwë had given the being, but his mind simply refused to accept that _Morgoth_ had been present, that it was he who had stolen Arwen's body.) He had gone now, that much was clear. Elladan shuddered involuntarily, his mind trying to shy away from remembering the twisting, black formless _thing_ that had simply oozed menace and hate, that had lingered above Arwen's crumpled form, before edging closer to them, then lunging towards the glowing ship before being pulled back into wherever it was that Eönwë's blade had carved a path into. The Void, Elladan assumed, but he did not care to ask.

“Vingilot.” Maglor's voice was a strangled whisper as he stared up at the ship looming overhead, shining brighter than the Sun. Elladan started, turning to look at him in amazement- how could that be? Ëarendil was forbidden to return to mortal lands, was he not? How could his vessel be here? But Maglor was backing away, his head bowed. Then Eönwë, who had not yet addressed them, but had instead been gazing up at Vingilot and Ëarendil, outstretched a hand, as if beckoning gently to something or someone. For an instant, watching, while the light of the Silmaril bathed the entire scene, Elladan could have sworn he saw a faint, barely visible image of Arwen, translucent and floating, as insubstantial as breath, drifting towards Eönwë and her own unmoving form, before flickering out of sight. A second later, her chest rose and fell- she was breathing, albeit shallowly.

As if this sign of life had freed his limbs from paralysis, Elladan stumbled towards his sister, desperate to make physical contact with her, to reassure himself that she was safe, and alive, and herself again. Footsteps as hasty as his own followed him and he knew without even looking that Elrohir was at his side. He wasn't sure how or when the Maia had moved, but as he and Elrohir dropped to their knees at Arwen's side, checking her over, Eönwë was somehow now standing behind them, addressing Glorfindel.

Elrohir had taken Arwen's limp hand in his, and was talking to her in a low, soothing tone, smoothing hair back from her brow. Elladan, noting for the first time that she had lost a significant amount of weight in just a few days, swallowed hard, blinking back tears. Her arms were like willow branches, her fingers little more than twigs, she was so thin now. Her face seemed sharper, cheekbones jutting out, her skin almost waxen except for the dried blood that had flowed from her nose to her mouth, staining her mouth and chin vivid red. Her eyes were closed, and although she still breathed, there was no other indication that she lived at all.

Suddenly feeling sick with foreboding, he left Elrohir speaking to Arwen reassuringly, telling her she was safe now, and all was well, Elladan stumbled to his feet. Something was digging into his mind like a burr he longed to shake off but could not.

 _She will not wake._ The thought chilled him to the bone, but it would not leave him, no matter how he tried to dismiss it. To distract himself, he looked to the others. At some stage- he was not sure when- the light of the Silmaril had dimmed, and Vingilot was now low enough for him to see the deck, yet the vessel was empty. Puzzled, he turned, and to his surprise, saw a tall, golden-haired stranger, with ears half-curved, like Adar's, the Silmaril bound upon his brow, deep in conversation with Maglor, who looked both terrified and amazed, shaking his head with tears on his cheeks.

The golden-haired stranger nodded emphatically, then, without warning, clasped Maglor's shoulder in a kinsman's greeting. Knowing who this 'stranger' had to be- Ëarendil, Adar's birth father- and concerned about Maglor, Elladan stepped closer. It was not _eavesdropping_ , he told himself. He was just looking out for his family- and even he did not know if he meant Maglor or Ëarendil when he used that logic.

“....cared for my sons when you need not have done so. Did you think I was unaware of the events of Sirion's fall? _All_  who were involved bore some blame, Maglor, and so long has passed, I bear no grudge against you, the reason my sons grew to be such fine people.” Ëarendil's tone was earnest, passionate. “I myself was not present as I should have been when my sons were small. Whatever else that accursed Oath drove you to do, how could I feel anything but gratitude for the kinsman who took them in and raised them with love?” He pulled the great jewel from his brow without warning, brandishing it toward Maglor as if he hadn't a care in the world. Maglor stumbled backwards as if the Silmaril were a venomous snake.

“Keep that away from me. I never wish to see any of them again. I've paid enough for...”

“See, even now, you show that you are not the same person you were back then. Once, you would have taken it without hesitation.” Ëarendil gazed steadily at him. “You _have_ changed, Maglor son of Nerdanel." He spoke deliberately, obviously omitting Feanor's name for a reason. "You have become a better person, and I know I can trust you to care for my son and his family.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Elladan thought he saw Eönwë nod, as if agreeing with Ëarendil, although the Maia did not approach them or speak to Maglor directly.

Maglor made a sound that might have been a strangled sob. “I... I doubt your wife would agree...”

Ëarendil's fair face grew troubled. “It is true that she is not... well-disposed towards your family. I speak only for myself when I say I believe you have suffered enough for your crimes, and wish you only happiness now.” His bright blue eyes shifted towards Elladan and widened. He took a half step forward, then faltered, as if unsure that Elladan would welcome him. “Greetings, Elrondion. I... I apologize, I do not know your name...”

Elladan, despite the tension, and the fear that was still fading from him, or perhaps because of it, bit the inside of his cheek, unable to help himself from attempting a joke. “Well met... Grandfather. I am Elrohir.”

Ëarendil smiled tentatively, but looked around, startled, when Maglor let out a derisive snort, recovering some of his composure now he was on the familiar territory of dealing with mischief. “Very amusing, _Elladan_.”

 _Traitor_. Elladan mock-glared at him. “I wish you would tell us how you _always_  know when we do that.”

“I will when you stop trying to play that trick on unsuspecting people.” Maglor turned back to Ëarendil. “I would apologize for him, and say this is out of character, but he and his brother have been like this since they learned to speak. This is Elladan. The other is Elrohir. And,” Maglor smiled weakly. “Obviously you have met Arwen, their younger sister, or encountered her fea, at least, as you played a role in guiding her back here.”

Ëarendil's eyes widened, as if he somehow had not known who Arwen was. “Their sister... my own granddaughter... and I had no idea...” He stared at the small, unmoving form, his eyes gleaming with unshed tears. “I hope that...” His words trailed off, his tone uncertain.

“ _No_.” The stern, 'Captain of Rivendell's Guard' voice, that Glorfindel only used when he was genuinely angry and worried, startled all three of them, and as one, they turned to see what was going on. Elrohir was no longer kneeling beside Arwen, but standing next to Glorfindel, both of them facing Eönwë as if... as if they were shielding Arwen from him, for some reason. Elladan crossed the distance in two strides, joining his twin. He didn't know what was happening, but the firm look of denial on Elrohir's face, Glorfindel's apparently refusing Eönwë something, and the somber, almost pitying expression on the Maia's face made Elladan's heart clench. “What's going on?” His mouth was dry and he could barely force the question out, because he dreaded to hear the answer.

Eönwë regarded him with ancient, fathomless eyes for a long moment, before turning his gaze to Maglor. He held his hands up, almost as if he were apologizing to the assembled Elves. “I meant no harm. I only stated what I believe to be the child's best chance of healing, that she be borne to Valinor, to be tended by Lord Irmo and Lady Este as soon as possible. What she has endured, being ousted from her own hroa, then languishing in the Void... That will have done harm enough, and the Fallen One's attack upon her at the last...” He shook his head. “Her chances of recovery are slender. Less so if she remains in Middle-Earth. Such hurts as these cannot be healed upon these shores.”

Molten-hot anger roared through Elladan's veins, and quite forgetting who it was that stood before him, he opened his mouth to retort scathingly that Eönwë had no idea what he was talking about, Arwen could not just be taken to Valinor this very moment, never to return! She was strong, she would get through this, and with Adar's healing powers, she would be back to normal in no time! He did not actually get the chance to say any of this, however, as, with no warning, Maglor's scarred right hand clamped over his mouth, silencing him. Maglor, while not once looking directly at Eönwë, as if shame kept him from doing so, nonetheless addressed the Maia calmly.

“I understand what you are saying, Lord Eönwë, and you may be right, but young Arwen is a child in truth, and such a decision cannot be made while her parents are not present.” He took a deep breath, staring at Arwen's still form before speaking again. “Elrond has great skill in healing, more so than he did the last time you encountered him. Surely you would not grudge him the attempt to heal his only daughter himself?” Maglor hesitated before speaking again. “At the very least, this way, her family will be able to bid her farewell, if it does prove necessary for her to sail West for healing.” His voice thickened at the last words, and Elladan felt drops of water- tears- dripping into his hair.

Eönwë bowed his head. “As you wish.” Whether he agreed with Maglor's words, or was simply not going to continue the argument, could not be judged from his tone or his expression. He held Maglor's gaze for a long moment, his eyes intense enough that it seemed he was communicating something. In the end, Maglor bowed his head, letting go of Elladan and stepping away, his shoulders hunched as if he bore the weight of the world upon them.

An instant later, Eönwë was standing aboard Vingilot. Try as he might, Elladan could not discern how he had gotten there. Ëarendil inhaled deeply, before walking over to Glorfindel, giving him the same kinsman's greeting that he had given Maglor, clasping his shoulder. The two golden-haired males exchanged a few words, too quickly to be overheard, but Glorfindel nodded and smiled, his expression bittersweet. Returning to Maglor and the twins, Ëarendil managed a smile, although it was sad. To the twins' surprise, Ëarendil drew one, then the other, into an embrace.

“I regret that I am only meeting the two of you now, under these circumstances, but I hope you know that you _are_ my family, and I love you, as I do your father, and the rest of my family in Valinor. And I am as proud of Elrond as I am of you. If you would tell him that, and that I am sorry I never got the chance to know him...” He shook his head, golden tresses flying. His gaze flickered to where Arwen lay, his sapphire eyes shining with tears that he blinked back. Moving quickly to her side, he dropped a gentle kiss upon her brow, but she did not react in any way. He whispered something to her before standing, deliberately looking away, as if seeing her condition pained him. “She's so young, almost as young as my-” He cut himself off, swallowing hard. “If I had been able to prevent _this_...” His voice cracked, and he cleared his throat. “I am sure we will meet again someday, and until then, know that I will be watching over all of you.” He turned and walked away quickly, as if slowing down would cost him his resolve- it was clear, to Elladan at least, that he wished to stay, or part of him did.

Vingilot was aloft in seconds, and out of sight within minutes, leaving an odd sense of unreality in its wake, as if the past hour had not taken place, like they had just woken from a bizarre, terrifying dream.

Arwen still lay on the ground before them, though, proving that all this _had_ been real, and, moving as if on cue, they all approached her. Glorfindel and Maglor both attempted to rouse her as the twins had, to no avail. She still breathed, but there was no other sign of life. Even her eyes did not rove under their closed lids. As they sought deadwood and old vines to build a travois to bear her home on, built it, and set off as fast as possible, running at top speed with no plans to halt until they reached Rivendell, a cold, tight ball seemed to have taken up residence in Elladan's stomach. Even the stupefied daze he had fallen into as recent events finally sank in: facing Morgoth within Arwen's body, making her look like some form of ghoul, then Eönwë appear to draw out Morgoth's spirit, seeing _that_ foul thing unclad, and after that, meeting Ëarendil, and having him being _friendly_  to Maglor: so many incredible events, occurring so close together, could not shift the gnawing unease he felt.

Arwen should not be so still, so lifeless, not for any reason. She was always moving, laughing, playing, teasing them... Seeing her like this was unnatural, wrong. And Eönwë had seemed so certain that she could not recover while in Middle-Earth... Elladan clenched his fists as he ran to keep up with the others. _He was wrong. This is our home, and Arwen belongs with her family. Adar or Daernaneth will know a way to heal her._

He refused to even contemplate what would happen if they could not.


	17. Chapter 17

Elrohir's eyes were blurry with exhaustion and it was all he could to keep placing one foot before the other as they re-entered Rivendell. They had literally run the entire way back, for two days and nights, with Maglor and Glorfindel taking turns bearing the travois that carried Arwen- the twins had offered to take a turn but had been denied. If he was honest with himself, Elrohir was relieved- Arwen had not woken, nor stirred, nor moved in any way for the entire journey, even when they had needed to cross a swift, cold stream and icy water had sprayed her.

 _Don't think about it_. Elladan sent, picking up on his brother's thoughts and speaking to him via osanwë. _Adar will know what to do to rouse her_.

Elrohir made himself nod, wishing he did not know quite so well when his twin was trying to reassure himself more than anyone else.

The Sun was rising as they crossed the Last Bridge, and as soon as they were in Rivendell, the travois was set down and Maglor lifted Arwen into his arms. He cradled her as if she were still a babe, as she lay limp and unresponsive, her eyes still closed. Maglor took off at a run for the main House, where Adar and Naneth would surely be waiting. Elrohir could not see how he had any strength _left_  after such an arduous journey, but Maglor ran as if he were just beginning the day afresh after weeks of sitting idle.

If it were not for the fact that he _needed_ to hear Adar's verdict for Arwen's recovery, Elrohir would have gone straight to his own rooms to collapse upon his bed, but he knew he could not rest until he knew how soon his sister would be well. A glance at Elladan showed that he felt the same, and so they dragged their aching feet and weary limbs after Maglor. Elrohir wasn't sure which of them had clasped the other's hand first, but it was a comfort, the strength of his twin's grip, knowing that whatever news came from Adar concerning Arwen, his brother would be there to bear it with him. Presumably Glorfindel was behind them, but neither turned to look. As they entered the main house and headed straight for Adar's healing rooms, it felt as if they were holding their breath in fearful anticipation, and Elrohir would swear their hearts were pounding in unison.

Usually, he felt more relaxed whenever he entered this room. The peach-colored walls with their huge mullioned windows, and the soft white curtains and linens, along with the faint fragrance of herbs in the air that never fully left, was calming to the fea, but not today. Today, the very air seemed to be heavy, too close, crushing. Elrohir's hands turned clammy at the utter silence in the room.

Maglor had lain Arwen down on one of the patients' beds and was now standing back, letting Adar lean over her, quickly surveying her for obvious injuries, of which there were none, before resting his hands atop her brow, fingers laced, standing straight and closing his eyes, his brow furrowed. A faint glow surrounded his hands, but there was no obvious change in Arwen's condition.

Maglor stood some distance away, one arm around Celebrian's shoulders, supporting her. She could not take her eyes from Arwen, it seemed. Her hands were bunched against her mouth, and her face was utterly white.

Elladan and Elrohir hovered in the doorway, feeling awkward, their exhaustion temporarily forgotten, not willing to leave, but uncertain of their welcome, either. What if they unintentionally disturbed Adar and it did more harm to Arwen?

Some time passed, and the glow surrounding Elrond's hands grew brighter. It almost seemed that his teeth were gritted, and perspiration broke out on his skin from the effort he was pouring into this healing. His mouth began moving, shaping words too quickly to be interpreted, too quiet to be heard.

Elrohir held his breath. A Song of Power, one of the most potent ways of healing someone. Adar almost never needed to actually sing aloud for his healing gifts to work, however, and that he did so now was not a good sign. _Please, please... let this do SOMETHING to help her_.

Elrond's hands were trembling with effort, and a thin stream of blood trickled from his nose. The Song he was using built like ozone in the room, becoming almost tangible to the onlookers, but Arwen's condition did not change. She lay there, still as a corpse but for the shallow breaths she still took.

The Song crescendoed, then broke, shattering like glass, and Elrond staggered. He would have toppled to the ground if Glorfindel had not surged from... somewhere, and steadied him, guiding him to a chair and forcing a glass of miruvor into his hand, helping him to drink when his hand still shook from strain.

Elladan and Elrohir exchanged looks, before taking wary steps into the room. “Adar...?”

Elrond looked up, first at his sons, then his wife, then finally at Maglor. Elrohir's heart almost stopped when he saw his father's expression, the defeated slump of his shoulders, the haunted eyes shining with tears... Adar looked... _broken_. There was no other word for it, and Elrohir shook his head hard. This wasn't right, this wasn't meant to happen: Adar was strong enough to fix everything, he always had been!

“She is gravely weakened. Only the faintest shreds of her fea remain. I cannot reach her.” It did not even sound like Elrond's voice, this tone that quavered and cracked like over-thin ice under too much pressure.

Celebrian, who had until now remained at Maglor's side, now pulled free of him and ran forward, falling to her knees at Arwen's bedside. With a stifled sob, she buried her face in her daughter's midnight hair, which made a stark contrast to the pristine white bedlinen as it lay spread over the pillows. Her shoulders were shaking as she wept.

Slowly, Elrond straightened from his slumped position. His expression hardened, Elrohir noted, but it seemed... brittle, fragile. To him, seeing his father this way, it felt as if the very world had turned upside down, as if something fundamental in the universe had shifted, gone horribly wrong.

Adar's eyes rested on Arwen and the still-weeping Celebrian, before turning to Maglor, looking like Elrohir felt, like he wanted comfort and reassurance. “I think you need to tell me exactly what happened when you found her. What, precisely, took place to leave my daughter in this state?”

Elrohir recoiled, and he saw Elladan do the same, at the memory of what they had faced at the ruins of the black temple at Forodwaith: Arwen, possessed by Morgoth, looking like some kind of demon, his voice issuing from her mouth, the raw horror of seeing his foul spirit, unbound and formless... Nausea churned inside him just thinking about it, and he began shaking.

Glorfindel and Maglor's faces were grim, and the light in their eyes was almost unbearable to look upon. “I will explain,” Maglor said slowly, “But your sons do not need to endure the retelling of this tale, if they do not wish to," He eyed Elladan and Elrohir worriedly, sighing when neither of them showed any sign of leaving. "And also...” He glanced at Celebrian, who had now moved to the chair beside the bed, her face tear-stained. She was holding Arwen's hand, and stroking her forehead soothingly, as if she were coaxing a much younger child to sleep. “I do not know if it is wise for Celebrian to hear this...”

She was on her feet in an instant, whirling on Maglor, her green eyes flashing with an almost incandescent anger. Elrohir could not help but note, randomly, that she looked the very image of Galadriel at her most intimidating. “Do not treat me like some frail flower, Maglor Feanorian.” She all but hissed. “Some... _abomination_  against Iluvatar did this to my child, and I will not be lied to about how or why. Tell. Me. What. Happened.”

Maglor still hesitated, for a moment, holding her gaze. Whatever he had seen in her eyes must have bested his resolve, however, because his shoulders slumped as if he had lost a battle. “Very well. But you had best be seated for this. It... will be hard to hear, and believe. Both the bad and the good of it.”

Celebrian, her face set, returned to the chair at Arwen's bedside, taking Arwen's limp hand in hers once more, but keeping her eyes on Maglor. Elrond, too, was looking to him for an explanation, while apparently drawing comfort from Glorfindel's hand resting on his shoulder.

As Maglor began his tale, Elrohir felt himself start to shake again, and clung more tightly to Elladan's hand, leaning closer to his brother unconsciously, trying to force the horrifying images from his mind, and wishing, for the first time, that Elven recall was not so great, and that Maglor was not so skilled at weaving pictures with his words, for as he spoke, the tale seemed to unfold before their eyes, darkening the room, and the moods of those within, still further.

As recent events were explained to Elrond and Celebrian, from the moment they had found 'Arwen' and realized exactly who it was that had stolen her hroa, and continuing the tale until Eönwë's arrival, and his casting Morgoth out, their faces ran a veritable gauntlet of emotions: disbelief, fear, outright horror, guilt, shame and utter despair. Then, when Ëarendil's appearance was mentioned, both twins noticed a chillingly cold look of anger on their father's face, wiped away seconds later. It was replaced with an unreadable mask as Maglor made a point of explaining that Ëarendil had acted to save them all, and that he had spoken to Maglor as kin, thanking him for raising Elrond and Elros with love. Elladan, always the more outspoken twin, interrupted then, and passed on the Mariner's words of love and apologies for the past to his son.

Nothing of Elrond's emotions could be read on his face at that point, and Maglor let out an audible sigh. At last, Elrond shook his head, returning his gaze to his all-but-lifeless daughter. “I have never heard of such a thing, or how it might be healed...” His eyes were leaden with despair.

Celebrian started suddenly, her eyes blazing with some fervor. “Naneth will know what to do. We have already informed her that something is amiss with Arwen. If word of what truly happened is sent to her-”

Glorfindel stepped forward, his voice soft, his eyes kind. “Celebrian, you must consider... Eönwë claimed that...”

“She's right.” Elladan cut across him, desperation clear in his tone. “Daernaneth was taught healing and Songs of Power by Melian herself. Even if Adar cannot find a way to reach Arwen, surely she can!” He was speaking rapidly, his eyes almost frantic. Elrohir knew this was only to prevent Glorfindel revealing what Eönwë had claimed, that Arwen could not be healed while east of the Sea, and he could have wept.

Did Elladan truly think that if something was not said aloud, then it would not be the truth? But he could see a sliver of hope shining in Adar's eyes now, and he could not bring himself to be the one to ruin that. Judging by the bleak but resigned looks that Glorfindel and Maglor exchanged, neither could they. And perhaps there _was_  something that Galadriel could do. Eönwë was a warrior, not a healer, he could be mistaken...

But a tiny, cruel voice deep within Elrohir that he could not silence said that waiting for Galadriel to perform some miracle was only delaying the inevitable, that Arwen, no matter what, _would_  have to Sail west if she were ever to awaken and recover. The notion made his eyes smart with tears, but even if that were so (and it was killing him inwardly to even think it) at least, by sending for their grandparents, all of Arwen's family would be able to see her once more, and bid her farewell before her final departure from Middle-Earth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Osanwë is an Elvish word for telepathy. I don't remember if the word is Quenya or Sindarin in origin though, sorry.


	18. Chapter 18

Elrond slumped forward, massaging the bridge of his nose with his index finger and thumb, attempting to dislodge the headache that had taken up permanent residence in his skull over the past week and a half. Each day, he had attempted to reach out, and Sing some strength back into his daughter's damaged fea, to no avail. He had been unable to elicit a response, let alone awaken her. He and Celebrian had spent every waking moment at her bedside, even taking their meals there, Elladan and Elrohir more often than not sprawled on the floor, all watching Arwen, desperate for some sign of life, terrified that if she were not watched, if they did not will her to hold on, that she would slip away to Mandos.

With each passing day, as her unresponsive body weakened, despair heaped more weight onto his shoulders. His wife had not said as much, but he feared that she- and their sons- blamed him for not knowing some way to revive Arwen: he certainly blamed himself for his failure. He only stood outdoors now, leaning against a wall, because Maglor and Glorfindel had all but wrestled him and Celebrian away from the healing rooms, announcing that _they_ would remain so that Arwen was not left alone, but Elrond and Celebrian absolutely _had_ to go and get some rest. Celebrian had done so, reluctantly, after a heated argument with Glorfindel, which had ended with her bursting into tears, and Elrond stepping in, all but carrying her to their bedchamber and urging her to get some sleep. At least that was one thing he could do, to help his wife.

He, however, had been unable to relax enough to sleep- what if something happened to Arwen while he slumbered, and he was not there? Knowing full well that Maglor would simply order him back out if he returned to the healing rooms, he had ventured outside instead, wincing a little at the bright sunlight that he had not seen for days. At least, this day, Galadriel and Celeborn were due to arrive. Erestor had taken some guards to meet them, and Elrond knew full well that Celebrian, Elladan and Elrohir held out hope that Galadriel would know some way to help Arwen that he did not. He wished he could believe the same.

Maglor had eventually, two days ago, confided in him what the Maia Eönwë had said, about Arwen only being able to be healed in Valinor, and Elrond's heart had turned to lead upon hearing that. She was a _child_ whose life in Middle-Earth had barely begun! To send her away, to potentially forcibly deprive her of the Choice that was the birthright of the Peredhil.... how could that be right? But, if she did not Sail, what then? Would she remain as she was for all time, caught between life and death, never coming back to herself? Or, worse than that, if she never roused, and could not take nourishment, if she were to starve and wither... no. That, no matter what, could not be borne. Elrond's eyes stung with tears at the idea of yet another person he loved being torn away from him, but if it was a matter of letting Arwen be sent to the West, or watching her die, he knew which he had to choose. _After all,_ the grim thought came upon him, _I have survived the loss of so many others, what is one more?_  And at least if Arwen was in Valinor, then someday, he would join her, and he would never know the horror and grief of losing her to mortality as he had Elros.

Thinking of his long-dead twin stirred up thoughts of Ëarendil, who had apparently been instrumental in saving Arwen, or at least alerting the Valar to what had gone on recently.

 _They should have known anyway!_ The thought was bitter, and he quickly quashed it- it was unfair. Yet, surely, as Guardians of Arda, they should have _noticed_ Morgoth's sly attempt to escape his prison before it had come to this? Arwen, seduced by the poisoned, honeyed words of that evil, twisted creature, wrenched from her own body and engulfed by the Void, then to have Morgoth attempt to destroy her spirit utterly out of pure spite at having his plan foiled...

Just _thinking_ of how terrified Arwen must have been, while he, and Celebrian, had been oblivious to the danger she was in for who knew how long, made him sick with guilt and shame. What manner of parent _was_ he, to have noticed nothing of what was happening? How had he, who had grown up amid the wars of the First Age, not recognized the presence of Morgoth in his own home? Arwen would surely hate him for not protecting her if she ever recovered enough to say so. No doubt his wife and sons would feel the same. The weight of that truth almost forced him to his knees. He had had these same thoughts, day in and day out, since Arwen had been brought home, unresponsive. They were circular, driving him deeper in despair, but somehow they troubled him less than thinking of Ëarendil, his birth father. His sudden appearance in Middle-Earth, the words he had evidently spoken to Maglor, and to Elrond's sons, churned up a age-old bitterness deep within him that Elrond had thought long overcome. He had no reference, no image of Ëarendil in his mind at all, and to be forced to consider him a real person, not a distant legend, was... disquieting, and never failed to rouse anger in him. _Maglor_  was his adar, the only one he recalled. He loved him as strongly as if he had sired him in truth.

Ëarendil seeming to accept that, and wishing to befriend Maglor, thanking him for raising his children... It was not what Elrond had imagined. He had envisioned blame and hate, if they had met at all. He had mentally prepared for that, was ready and willing to defend Maglor from any accusations. This reaction, though... he had no idea how to respond to it.

A horse's whinny broke the silence of the day, making him start, and he glanced up, frowning. Surely it could not be Erestor returning with his law-parents so soon? He had only been out here, thinking, for... His gaze darted skyward, and what he saw made him blink, repeatedly. It was mid-afternoon, unless the Sun had changed her course. Had he truly been brooding for so long? Weariness still tugged at him as he stood straight with a groan, his back and neck aching. Had he actually _slept_ while standing upright and simply not realized? He had not done such a thing since spending weeks at a time healing wounded soldiers in the war of the Last Alliance! Surely he had not been that weary?

He shook his head in an attempt to clear it. Whether he had simply become lost in thought, or if he had slept, it mattered not. Erestor was now leading Celeborn and Galadriel towards him, and he stood taller, wanting to at least _look_  as if he were coping, even as all that had happened was tearing him apart.

His sons came to join him silently, one at either side. From the glances they gave him, and their frowns, Elrond assumed he looked even more ravaged by care and exhaustion than he felt, but it did not matter. He focused on Galadriel, his heartbeat beginning to pick up speed, tormenting him with a hope he would not utter aloud, that she might have a solution to this nightmare. Her intense blue eyes bored straight through him, as always, but he shielded his turmoil with what little energy he had remaining. Arwen, not he, was the priority here. He inhaled deeply, already bracing himself for having to retell this grisly story to Galadriel and Celeborn, anticipating accusatory glances from the former at least, for she would never have missed such a powerful Darkness entering her realm, and would not comprehend how Elrond could have missed it. He did not himself know how he had not realized! But he would take whatever criticism his law-mother handed him, knowing he deserved it. It did not matter. Only finding a way to reach Arwen's failing fea, before it was too late, mattered.

He barely heard the words of greeting that he, and they uttered, before escorting them indoors. Usually, they would be given time to refresh themselves from their journey, but now, in this situation, Elrond did not feel it that important.

Thankfully, Galadriel and Celeborn seemed to agree, for without even waiting to be asked, they strode directly to the healing rooms, unstoppable silver-and-gold forces of nature, concern for their granddaughter graven clearly on their faces. Light footsteps all but flew towards them, catching up with ease. Celebrian must have been watching for her parents' arrival instead of sleeping. Her eager expression made it clear she had convinced herself that Galadriel would know some way to help, and Elrond knew she would never believe otherwise until she saw it, if things truly were so bad, which he prayed they were not. She passed her husband and sons without a word, racing towards the healing rooms to join her parents and daughter.

Elrond, Erestor and the twins followed without a word, each nursing the same faint but persistent hope in their hearts:

_Please, let one of them know of some way to restore Arwen!_


	19. Chapter 19

Celebrían, at her mother's direction, stood at her daughter's bedside, one of her hands gently clasping Arwen's limp one. Her other hand was encased in her mother's firm grasp, as Galadriel stood to her left. Across the bed from them stood Celeborn, holding Galadriel's other hand, and next to him, Elrond, gripping Celeborn's left hand with his right, and encasing Arwen's other hand with his left, completing the 'chain', as it were.

Upon completing her examination of Arwen earlier, Galadriel had reflected for a long time, only adding to the tension that had hovered over them all for the past few weeks. When she had spoken at last, it was slowly, her voice tinged with reluctance as she addressed her daughter, law-son, grandsons, as well as Maglor and Glorfindel.

“I know of only one method that may, and I must stress, _may_ , allow Arwen to be brought to wakefulness.” She had sighed. “It is a skill I have learned only in theory, centuries ago in Beleriand, from Lady Melian. It involves those who are close kin to the injured fea sending themselves forth from their hroas, using others as anchors, to call the injured fea home.” Here she had closed her eyes. “Others must serve as 'anchors', to prevent the loosed spirits from slipping to Mandos, and it is dangerous and taxing, from what I understand.”

“Also,” Celeborn had added, his voice low, his face grave, “As Arwen's fea is not, in fact, wandering free, but simply weakened beyond reach within her hroa, there is no guarantee this will work at all.”

Celebrían's heart had pounded. “Adar, we must try. Any hope is better than none!”

He inclined his head, acknowledging her words, but he spoke no more. Galadriel regarded them all slowly, one by one. “If we are to attempt this, Elrond, Celebrían, you two must be the ones, along with Celeborn and myself, who attempt to reach Arwen.”

There had been immediate protests from the twins, and Maglor had frowned, clearly about to comment, as was Glorfindel, who was now scowling. Galadriel's upraised hand had stilled them all. “Arwen's parents have the closest bond to her fea at her age, and Maglor, Glorfindel, I will need you to serve as anchors for Celeborn and myself, and for Elrond and Celebrían. Elladan and Elrohir may support you, if they will. We will need as much strength as possible to attempt this.” Her eyes lowered. “I do not think you realize how exhausting this will be.”

So now, as Celebrían, her parents and her husband formed a circle around her comatose daughter, their hands linked, Maglor, Glorfindel and the twins stood behind them, their hands resting upon the shoulders of those who would be seeking Arwen's fea, preparing to lend them strength, listening to Maglor's guidance (he too was once Maia-taught, albeit long ago) about how to do so.

“Close your eyes.” Galadriel's voice was scarcely a whisper. “Reach out with your minds. All souls are wrought of light. See all in this room with your mind, not your eyes. Feel the bond you and your spouse share, Elrond, Celebrían, and focus on that at first.”

“Elladan, Elrohir,” Maglor spoke to them mostly, as they knew the least of such things, “Imagine a hithlain rope tethering you to the souls before you. Give them room to travel, but do not let them drift away.”

It sounded absurd, even in Maglor's musical voice, and under any other circumstances, Celebrían was sure she (and the twins) would have been laughing. But, even as she became less aware of her own physical form, and more aware of the steady glow of the spirits of those around her, she also noted that, directly before her, Arwen's fea was almost non-existent, and she was hard pressed to stifle a cry of dismay. She forced herself to concentrate on the bond she felt between her and Elrond, the encompassing warmth of his love, as her mother had instructed.

A rather disorienting feeling came over her: she was still aware of the glow that indicated the presence of others, but nothing else, no physical sensations. All her cares seemed to slip from her thoughts, and it was an effort to remember why she was doing this- for Arwen, to save her child. _I wonder if this is how it feels to be a cloud, drifting upon the wind..._

“Focus on Arwen, on the bond you have with her. Feel your way along it, if you can. Move towards the end.”

Galadriel's voice echoed, as if coming from some distance away, and it took several minutes for the meaning of her words to register with Celebrían. When it finally sank in she obeyed, following the tattered trail that she knew, somehow, led to Arwen, imagining herself, bird-like, winging towards some distant perch. She could feel Elrond at her side, his fea a mingled melody of the fey mystery of the Maiar, the eternal starlight of the Eldar, and the bright, seeking hunger of Mortals. She was also aware of the others, her parents, gold and silver lights, following where they led, and Maglor- stronger than she had ever imagined, his fea blazing in what passed for 'behind' them in this formless place, and Glorfindel, steady and resolute, tethering them to Life. The twins, like their adar, were an amalgamation of three kindreds, so singular and so beautiful that Celebrían could have wept for the sheer joy and impossibility of their existence.

Elrond seemed to gain speed, almost lunging, as if he had 'seen' their destination before she did, tugging her along with him. He stopped 'moving' abruptly, however, and Celebrían did cry out now, but in dismay, at what was before them. Her very essence rebelled at accepting it. How could this damaged, barely-there _thing_  be all that remained of her beloved, lively elfling? Arwen's fea had little more substance than the shredded wings of a dragonfly! She surged forward, trying to embrace her poor child, Elrond, at her side, doing the same.

A shudder ran through the wraith-like light that barely passed for a fea, but Arwen seemed to turn to them, or so it felt to Celebrían, who did not know if words that applied to the solid world were applicable in this strange spirit-place.

“Arwen,” Her voice filled the place like a mountain stream, placid, but with inexorable force beneath the surface. “Arwen, come home with us.”

“...Nana.... Ada...?” Their daughter's voice faded like morning dew. “So tired...”

Elrond's multi-faceted fea spread, supporting Celebrían, and reaching toward Arwen. “Just come along with us. Come home, and then you can rest.”

Celebrían marvelled at her husband- even in this incredible situation, he sounded matter of fact, logical, and utterly certain that he was right.

“...Don't know the way...”

Celebrían held back a sob. “Hold on to Ada and I, tithenig. We'll take you home.”

“...Safe? The Enemy... hurt...”

“You are safe now, daeriel.” Galadriel's intense, powerful voice filled the space like a beam of sunlight. “The Enemy is banished once more. All is well.”

The barely-there light that was Arwen edged forward, slowly. When it/she came within Celebrían's reach, she enfolded her, cradling her within her own light as if Arwen were a babe in her womb once again- infinitely fragile and precious, even though her presence was almost unnoticeable. Elrond's fea wrapped around them both as if he embraced them tightly, never to let them go. They both willed strength into Arwen's tattered fea, and were rewarded by seeing the light- her strength- grow, becoming brighter in their embrace. As one, they, Galadriel and Celeborn surged back towards their physical forms, letting the glow emitted by Maglor, Glorfindel and the twins guide them.

Celebrían's eyes shot open and she inhaled loudly, gasping and almost staggering as her head spun- suddenly finding herself back within her hroa felt so strange, as if her body were unfamiliar, and too heavy. She was relieved when her sons caught and steadied her, as Maglor did the same for Elrond.

Her mother, who was apparently familiar with this kind of unconventional travel, had immediately cast her hands out to steady herself. Celeborn was breathing deeply, standing as firmly as if he were a tree, rooted to the ground.

Once the walls of the healing room ceased to spin, Celebrían found herself holding her breath as she took a faltering step towards Arwen. _Please, please, please.._.

Her daughter's eyes were open, after over a week of them being closed and unmoving. She gazed directly at the ceiling, not even blinking. But _she was awake_.

Celebrían let out a sob, falling to her knees and reaching to cradle her daughter's face in her hands, as Glorfindel, Elladan and Elrohir let out exclamations of joy, and Elrond, tears of relief running down his cheeks, dropped a kiss on Arwen's brow before sinking wearily into one of the chairs beside the bed.

Celebrían was shaking with joy, and her words were choked with tears, her voice breaking. “Oh, Arwen, my darling, you don't know how good it is to see you back with us.”

Those blue-silver eyes, as familiar to Celebrían as her own, shifted towards her, unblinking. There was recognition in Arwen's gaze as she stared at Celebrían, then flickered her eyes towards Elrond, then in the direction of the others in the room, but she did not move in any other way, or speak.

A chill ran down Celebrían's spine at the lack of movement, but she ignored it. _She has only just awoken. I myself felt disoriented when I first rejoined my fea and hroa, and Arwen has been parted from her body for far longer than I was, as well as being exposed to the Void, and the Great Enemy_. Getting back to her feet, she took the seat she had been all but living in since Arwen had been brought home, kissing her daughter's brow just as Elrond had. “You're safe now, iell nin. You're home. Ada and I are here, and so are your brothers, and Maglor and Glorfindel. Can you see them?” She took Arwen's hand, hoping at least for a squeeze to acknowledge that her daughter heard her, but nothing happened save those beautiful silver-blue eyes shifting towards her once more. “You're safe now, and we won't let anyone hurt you again. I promise.”

Still no sign of Arwen even attempting to move.

Celebrían swallowed hard, trying to quash her growing unease. It didn't help that Galadriel, Celeborn and Maglor were exchanging grim looks, and that none of them were speaking to reassure Arwen. She turned her focus back to Arwen. “You can rest now if you need to, my Undómiel. Ada and I will stay with you, and you'll feel much stronger when you wake up again.” She looked at Elrond, who nodded, agreeing with her words, as he caressed Arwen's long hair, something he had often done when she was tiny and needed soothing to sleep.

Arwen glanced around once more, blinking a few times, deliberately, as if trying to communicate something, before her eyes drifted closed.

Celebrían's heart almost stopped- Arwen, sleeping, looked just as she had before she had woken up. But now, she reassured herself, Arwen's breathing was much deeper, more obvious and stronger, nothing like the faint wisps of air she had taken while she lay hovering between life and death. And as she slept now, her eyes roamed beneath her eyelids. _She is sleeping, not dying_.

“She merely sleeps now.”

Celebrían almost jumped as Elrond spoke her thoughts aloud, before she realized he was addressing their sons, who were both pale and wan. “The two of you should get some rest. We will send for you when she wakes again.”

“But Adar-”

“ _Go_.” His expression softened as his sons winced from his tone. “You have done brilliantly, in helping us to coax Arwen back to Life, but she needs rest. There is nothing further to be done to heal her until she wakes again.”

Reluctantly, the twins left the room, after each of them placed light kisses on their sister's cheek, with whispered promises to see her soon. Glorfindel and Maglor (both of whom also looked wearied, though they concealed it better than the twins) were the next to leave, again with whispered words for Arwen, praising and encouraging her, even though she could not hear them while she slept.

(Celebrían found herself disquieted by the troubled look Maglor had given her mother, but decided it was best ignored. As much as she loved her husband's adoptive father, he did tend to be overly pessimistic at times.) Galadriel and Celeborn exchanged looks. Struck with unease once again, Celebrían spoke before either of them could. Unable to bring herself to move from Arwen's side, or to release her hand, she hoped that her expression alone conveyed the gratitude she felt, and the embrace she would give her parents if she could.

“ _Thank you_ , Naneth, Adar.” Her voice cracked. “Thank you so much.” Tears stung her eyes. “We might never have gotten Arwen back if it weren't for you.”

Elrond winced slightly at that, and she sent a quick apology through their bond- she hadn't meant to make him feel a failure, that was the last thing she ever wanted, to hurt him in any way. His eyes met hers and she relaxed slightly, seeing the understanding and the unshakeable love in his eyes. She managed a smile, returning the same emotions to him.

Galadriel inclined her head, but did not reply to her daughter's words immediately. Celeborn took his wife's arm, his green eyes deep and thoughtful. As they turned to leave the weary parents with their sleeping daughter Galadriel finally spoke, albeit with less encouraging words than Celebrían would have liked to hear.

“It is joyous indeed that Arwen has awoken, but we must not forget the Power of the evil that tormented her. Her recovery will be slow, and much may be required of us in times to come, for her sake.”

With that, she and Celeborn left.

Celebrían rolled her eyes at her mother's usual cryptic, dramatic words: of course it would take a lot of time and effort from them to help Arwen recover, but as if any of her family wouldn't dedicate as much time and care as was needed until she was back to normal! She settled back into the chair that had begun molding to her form for the amount of time she'd spent in it lately, watching over Arwen, determined to be right here when her daughter woke up again.

 _When she woke up again_. The sheer joy of that thought made Celebrían's heart sing. Arwen would wake up again! They had her back, and she would eventually be healed. “Valar and Iluvatar be praised,” She murmured, reaching out and taking Elrond's hand, their arms linked, outstretched across their daughter's bed, she smiled through her tears. “We have our daughter back.”

Elrond nodded, his expression mirroring hers, utter awe, gratitude and love, as he squeezed her hand. “Valar be praised.”

They remained there, hands entwined, watching their child sleep, speaking without words, communicating through their marriage bond, both exhausted but content that their daughter was safe at last, and that, given time, she would be fully restored to them.


	20. Chapter 20

Maglor stepped silently into Arwen's healing room, a tureen of beef broth in his hands. He knew Elrond and Celebrían would not leave Arwen's side until she awoke once more, but he had also noted how drained they appeared to be after their 'excursion' to coax Arwen back to Life. Hence, the fortifying broth. It could also prove useful if it turned out Arwen was hungry, later: she had lost so much weight during the Great Enemy's possession of her, she looked half starved.

He set the full tureen down on the bedside table, noting with a wry smile that both Elrond and Celebrían were dozing in their chairs, their hands entwined, then glanced at Arwen herself.

Her eyes were open once more, and he stepped closer, his heart pounding. “Arwen? Are you awake, tithenig?” He spoke in a whisper, but her eyes turned towards him, so at least he was reasonably certain she could hear and understand.

She blinked, a slow, deliberate movement, but, just as before, did not move in any other way. A cold hard lump of dread coalesced in Maglor's stomach: he had seen others (too many others) recovering from captivity and torment in his long life, but all of them, upon waking from comatose states, had been able to move in some way, however slow, clumsy and uncoordinated their movements were. That Arwen now moved only her eyes, despite several hours having passed since she first awoke, was not a good sign. A chill surged through his very blood as he remembered the grim look he had fleetingly glimpsed in Galadriel's eyes before she had left the room to go and rest. Something was definitely wrong here, despite the clear jubilation that Celebrían, Elrond and their sons felt at having Arwen awake again. Try as he might, Maglor could not share in it, not yet.

Moving as silently as he could, he crept past the chair where Elrond slept, and knelt beside Arwen's bed. Her gaze followed his movements, which could be another good sign. He clasped her hand in his, noting with some unease that her hand was as limp and unresponsive as it had been when she lay in a coma.

“You can hear me, can't you?” He spoke in a low, clear tone, so that she could hear him with ease, but hopefully not loudly enough to rouse her parents- they needed rest.

Another one of those slow blinks, but no other movement, was Arwen's only response. Maglor's heart sank like a stone.

“Can you feel me holding your hand? Squeeze if you can.”

He waited for a long moment, but felt nothing. Arwen began blinking again, more rapidly, her gaze locked on him, as if trying to communicate. Communicate _what_ , however, he had no idea. A dreadful thought occurred to him: what if the blinking was all that she could do? If her fea had been weakened to the extent that she could exert so little control over her hroa... what could they do then?

“ _Daerada... how did I... get home?”_

Maglor started, almost falling over sideways as the faint whisper of Arwen's voice, sent through ósanwe, littered with pauses, as if each and every word were an effort, sounded in his mind. It was so faint as to be barely audible, but it was definitely coming from her mind to his. Regaining his balance, he saw that her gaze was still locked on him steadily, and she clearly awaited an answer.

His abrupt movement had woken Elrond and Celebrían, though, and he could have kicked himself as their eyes shot open, they recalled where they were, and instantly oriented themselves on Arwen.

“Iell nin? Are you awake?” The desperate hope and longing in Celebrían's voice cut into Maglor like a dagger: how could he tell her, and Elrond, that it seemed as if Arwen was awake and aware, but lacked the strength to move her body in any significant way?

 _”Nana?... Ada?_ ” There was relief in Arwen's mental voice now, weak as the 'sound' still was in Maglor's mind, and he managed a small smile, which faded almost immediately when Elrond and Celebrían did not react. His eyes flickered down to his hand, which still clasped Arwen's. What if he could hear her words, sent through ósanwe, only because he was making physical contact with her? If so, that was bleak news indeed. Ósanwe was a skill meant to send words to the minds of others across great distances. If Arwen now lacked the power to send words mere inches from herself, to people within the same room, without making physical contact with them... what did that say about how damaged her fea was?

“Arwen?” Elrond's voice was choked with emotion, and the look in his eyes... It was a despair that Maglor had not seen in him for over an Age, not since he had told Maglor of Elros' Choice and his eventual fate, and it made him ache for his adoptive son, wishing he could do something, anything, to take that suffering from him.

He swallowed hard, trying to force his voice to sound positive. “She can hear us, can't you, Undómiel?” Tears pricked at his eyes, but he forced them back, turning slightly so he was now facing Elrond and Celebrían. “She has managed to communicate with me through ósanwe, but she needs to be in physical contact to do so.”

“And... has she moved? At all?” Elrond's keen eyes were surveying his daughter. Of course, he would note that her position had not changed at all since she had woken. A bitter taste welled in Maglor's mouth. He did not want to be the one to tell him this!

 _”I am... trying. I... can't.”_  The whispering voice that only Maglor could currently hear held a tinge of fear, and he wished he could reassure her somehow that this would pass. But how could he when he had no idea?

Standing, he passed her hand to Elrond's. “If you hold her hand, she may be able to speak with you as well.” It was the sole comfort he could give Elrond at present, little as it was, as he would not give false reassurances of Arwen recovering. Celebrían immediately took Arwen's other hand in hers, clearly having no intention of being left out of this 'conversation'. “She does not recall how she got home, so perhaps you could explain.” He would leave it up to Elrond and Celebrían about how much they would tell her of recent events: they were her parents, and some of the things that had happened were things an elfling did not need to hear.

In the meantime, he would give them privacy. He slipped from the room, intending to go and find his cousin. If Galadriel had known or guessed that _this_ would be the result of Arwen's awakening, what appeared to be almost total paralysis, he would be having words with her about not giving any warning whatsoever. Then they would have to have an unpleasant, unwanted conversation about what should be done from here. He had sensed all the Power that she and Elrond had used to awaken Arwen from the coma, the Songs of Nenya and Vilya, that carried echoes of Celebrimbor, being pushed almost to their limits. If this was the most they could do, even with the power of the Rings they bore, then it was doubtful that anyone in Middle-Earth could do more for Arwen.

But what options did that leave them? Was the child to be trapped in a body that was little more than a cage for the rest of her life? _Mandos' halls would have been a kinder fate than that._  The grim thought made him wince, shying from the notion of that innocent child, his almost-granddaughter, actually dying. But that didn't mean that he was wrong.

Footsteps approaching disturbed his dark, spiralling thoughts, and he looked up to see Glorfindel approaching, a pensive look on his face, a folded parchment bearing a broken seal clutched in his hand. Maglor arched a brow at his expression.

“What do you have there?”

“A note from Cirdan. It only just arrived.” Glorfindel's voice sounded almost awed. “Around a week ago, a ship arrived at the Havens. Coming _from_  the West.”

Maglor froze in utter shock. Not since the return of Glorfindel himself had any ship sailed from Valinor to Middle-Earth! “Why...” He let the sentence trail off, unsure of what he had wanted to say.

“According to Cirdan, five emissaries have been sent. They appear to be aged Mortal Men, but he believes they may be Maiar. They evidently claim to be here to aid the forces in Middle-Earth against Sauron, for 'it has been seen',” Here Glorfindel made imaginary quotation marks with his hands, “That he will arise again. This time the Valar intend to see him defeated for good, and banished along with his accursed master.”

Maglor's mind whirled. Sauron returning once more was a troubling thought, but, if he was honest, he had expected it would happen someday. The timing of these emissaries' arrival, though... it was suspect. “Why now? Sauron has been silent for more than two centuries. The only thing that has changed of late is...” Morgoth's escape attempt. He did not say it aloud, indeed he did not need to, because Glorfindel's eyes darkened, showing that he understood.

“It is possible that... recent events may have stirred Sauron sooner than he would have regained his strength otherwise.” The golden haired warrior's tone was grim. “Evil has a vexing habit of begetting evil.”

Maglor inclined his head, acknowledging the truth of that. “Rivendell is the closest Elven realm to Cirdan's. I presume word was sent because these beings are making their way here?”

“It seems so. It also appears...” Glorfindel trailed off, avoiding Maglor's gaze. “One of the beings claimed to have a message specifically for you. From the Valar.”

Maglor's heart sank into his boots. His last encounter with them had not been pleasant, to say the least, and he could not imagine that any words they sent him now would be good tidings. With an effort, he put it aside. “Well, let them say what they will. We have bigger concerns at present than messages from the Lords of the West.”

“How so?” Glorfindel's tone sharpened. “Has Arwen-”

“Awake once again, and able to communicate- weakly- through ósanwe, as long as the recipient is making some manner of physical contact with her,” Maglor stated the facts flatly, attempting to make them sound less damning than they were. “But so far, it appears she cannot move in any way save to blink, although she breathes easily enough.”

Glorfindel's face whitened. “That is...”

“Nightmarish, I know. I have not explicitly told Elrond and Celebrían of her limitations, not yet. I am going to speak with Galadriel first. I wish to know what chance there is, if any, of Arwen's condition improving, before I burden her parents with such news.”

Glorfindel's face set. “I will come with you.” His eyes were unreadable, but Maglor felt a swell of gratitude for the company and support of the renowned warrior as they made their way to the guest rooms that Galadriel and Celeborn always used when they visited Rivendell.

“Are the twins-”

“Still resting after their role in waking Arwen. I will not disturb them until we know more of what's to come. Presuming Galadriel will even tell us anything.” Glorfindel's tone was not hopeful.

Maglor's eyes glinted. “You forget, mellon nin, I am older than she is. I doubt she will attempt to obfuscate anything from me.”

“I hope you are right.” Glorfindel sighed as they made their way up a flight of stairs. Abruptly, he froze.

Maglor paused, turning. “What is it?”

“I just wondered... what if these beings, if they truly are Maiar, know of some way to help Arwen recover, even if none of us here know of anything? What if _this_  is part of the reason that they have arrived here, now, at this time?”

Maglor could see Glorfindel's rising fervor, the faith that he had in the Valar unshakable, as it had ever been since his rebirth, no matter what darkness befell in Middle-Earth. “I hope you are right.” Was all he said, however, before turning his face away to hide his expression.

It could well be that these messengers from the West had been sent at this time to bring aid to Arwen. The problem, as Maglor saw it, was that the Valar's ideas of 'aid' did not always correspond with what the people of Middle-Earth wished for, or needed.

Their 'help' might only end up causing more pain and grief, even if the end result, eons from now, would make it worthwhile. They were ineffable beings who always played the long game, and did little to reassure or soften the blows to those who were hurt by their actions.

He honestly had no idea if he wished for them to have thought of a way to help Arwen, or not.

Would the price that the people here- Maglor's family of choice, that he loved as fiercely as he had his own blood kin- might have to pay to heal her be worth it?

* * *

**Elvish Translations:**

**Tithenig: Little one.**

**Ósanwe: Elvish word for telepathy.**

**Mellon nin: My friend (literally 'friend mine'.)**

**Undómiel: Evening Star, one of Arwen's names.**

**Iell nin: my daughter (literally 'daughter mine'.)**

**Nenya: the Ring of Adamant, one of the Three Rings of the Elves, owned by Galadriel.**

**Vilya: The Ring of Air, one of the Three Rings of the Elves, owned by Elrond.**


	21. Chapter 21

It came as no surprise to Maglor to find that Galadriel was not resting, as most people would be after such an endeavor as his cousin had undertaken scant hours ago, spending so much energy to attempt to restore a damaged fea. No, far from it, Galadriel was in the library, poring over an ancient tome, bound in old, cracked leather, her eyes searching furiously through the archaic, small rows of Cirth runes that filled the yellowed pages. A pile of books, most appearing just as old as the one she currently perused, had been stacked haphazardly on the desk she sat hunched over.

Glorfindel hesitated just behind him, as if he did not wish to disturb Galadriel, perhaps fearing her reaction to their intrusion. Maglor, however, had no such qualms as he stepped closer, clearing his throat to gain her attention. No matter how powerful she had grown, she was still his little cousin.

Her lips curved in a smile as she stood in one smooth movement, turning to face them. It was like as not that she had heard Maglor's thought, but he did not mind. She had always been capable of such things, ever since she had been an elfling, so long ago. It was a trait she had passed on to Arwen- he clamped down on that thought before fear for the child could overwhelm him again.

“Trying to find a way to restore Arwen's control of her body?” Maglor did not phrase it as a question, for indeed, what else would Galadriel find so urgent, given the situation they were in?

She nodded, keeping her eyes downcast. “I thought to see if anything like this had ever occurred before, in Beleriand, but I have found nothing that truly matches Arwen's condition so far.” Her shoulders were slumped, as if she took the lack of results as a mark of personal failure- she never had liked to admit defeat. “There are some records of Elves who have fought off the Houseless, and in doing so were greatly weakened in fea, but in those accounts-” She cut herself off abruptly, stifling a sigh.

“What?” Glorfindel's voice was low, as if he both wished to hear her answer and also dreaded it.

She raised her head, looking at them at last. “Most of the victims did not recover at all, and in the end they fled to Mandos. The only one that did not in fact suffer that fate eventually sailed West to seek healing in the gardens of Irmo and Este, their ultimate fate unknown.” Whirling back round, she slammed shut the book she had been reading, as if it had personally offended her. “But, of the stories I have found, all of them referred to adults. I have no way of knowing how Arwen's young age may affect her chances. Nor was she facing a Houseless Elf, but...”

“Don't say _his_ name again. He has been given more than enough attention of late.” Maglor nearly spat the words, although his heart was sinking. If Galadriel was correct, then it seemed Arwen's only chance of survival was to sail to Valinor. _Just as Eönwë had said_.

But how in blazes could they tell Elrond and Celebrían that, when they were so hopeful, now that Arwen was awake, after a fashion? Learning they had to send her away would be a crushing blow to them, as indeed it was to Maglor. And, apart from anything else, Arwen was barely past thirty, just a little girl. Even if she had not been in such a helpless position, physically, she could not make the journey to the Undying Lands alone at her age! Someone would surely have to accompany her, but which of the family would give up all that was familiar in their life here to start anew in a land they knew nothing of?

A scuffling sound came from behind one of the tall bookshelves, and with a muffled oath, Elladan stumbled into view, startling all three of the older Elves. Elrohir followed just behind his twin as usual, but while his head was bowed, as if ashamed to be eavesdropping, Elladan's face was set, his eyes flashing with a challenge. Celeborn appeared just behind his grandsons, his expression wry, and Maglor realized that was likely why the Sinda had not been at Galadriel's side when he and Glorfindel had entered the library- Celeborn must have sensed the twins' presence nearby and gone to ferret them out.

Glorfindel turned his patented 'captain of Rivendell' glare on both twins, arching a brow. “Did the two of you want something to read?” His sarcasm was cutting, for he knew, just as they all did, that the twins had likely come in here to eavesdrop on any conversation had about their sister.

Usually, that expression, paired with that tone of voice from Glorfindel cowed both twins into silence or hasty apologies for whatever mischief they had carried out. This time, however, it appeared Elladan, at least, was past common sense, for his response was to glower heatedly at them all.

“We heard you. Saying there's no chance for Arwen but to send her away, when she _is_  getting better!”

Maglor's heart cracked at the desperation he could hear clearly in Elladan's tone. _How young he is. How young they both are_. Both the twins looked devastated, and despite Elladan's words, his eyes gave him away: he knew there was no choice but to lose Arwen if they wished her to live. But denying it hurt less than admitting defeat. Maglor knew that feeling all too well, and reached out to comfort his adoptive grandson. “Elladan, if there was truly another way-”

“There has to be!” The shout came from Elrohir, usually the quieter of the twins, his voice breaking in its vehemence. “We have to... this can't... Arwen cannot _leave!_ ” Tears were running down his cheeks now.

Galadriel shook her head, her own eyes leaden with grief. “Daerion, if I truly knew _any_  way to restore her while allowing her to remain here among her family, I promise you, I would do it. But there is none. At least, none that any that can be done by anyone who currently dwells upon these shores.”

“This will do so much harm to Elrond and Celebrían. I dread having to tell them.” Glorfindel spoke bitterly, shaking his head. “Unless...” He let the sentence trail off, his brow furrowed.

“Unless what?” Elladan, quick as a viper, whipped round to look at him, breaking free of Maglor's embrace.

Glorfindel tightened his grip on the letter from Cirdan that he had shown to Maglor earlier. “Cirdan sent word that emissaries from the West are even now journeying towards Rivendell. He believes they may be Maiar in disguise, sent to aid this world against Sauron, should he rise once more.”

“Glorfindel,” Maglor cautioned, raising a hand, guessing already what the ellon might be thinking, and not wanting anyone to raise false hopes.

Elladan and Elrohir's eyes both gleamed with a new fervor. “Maiar? Surely, if it is so, they will know a way to bring Arwen back to health!”

Celeborn, who had remained silent as he typically did in such discussions until he had all the facts, could not quite disguise the glimmer of hope in his eyes.

 _Of course_ , Maglor reflected, _He would hold out hope that some cure exists that would prevent his only granddaughter from being removed from Middle-Earth that he loves above nearly all else_. Galadriel, meanwhile, had closed her eyes, her expression turning distant.

“They will arrive in just over a week.” Her voice was ethereal, as if she spoke from far away. “Five there are, wearing the guise of aged Men.” Her eyes flickered beneath their closed lids, as her mind reached out to view these beings from the West. “Two of them I knew in my youth. The other three are strange. Unknown.”

“You know some of them?” Elrohir's voice almost shook with tension. “If they will be here soon, surely they could help Arwen, so she does not have to actually leave?”

Galadriel opened her eyes, giving him a long look, but she did not reply, instead turning to look at Maglor, who read her eyes, and sighed heavily once again.

“Another week's delay is not likely to do any more harm to Arwen's condition,” he admitted grudgingly. “But if these beings can give no aid, then we _must_  tell Elrond and Celebrían the truth of this, and make a decision ere it is too late for Arwen.”

“These Maiar will be able to help.” Elladan stated decisively, as if he had heard nothing of what Maglor had just said. “And we need not trouble Adar and Naneth with potential worst-case scenarios when we are not yet at that point.”

Maglor averted his gaze so that Elladan could not see the expression on his face, though Galadriel gave him a brittle, too-knowing look, showing that she understood. The chances were, all that this delay would do was provide yet another group of people- these mortal-guised Maiar- to repeat what they already knew, that the only healing possible for Arwen would be in Valinor. But, if he was honest with himself, in his own mind, Maglor did not grudge the delay: telling this news, that Arwen needed to Sail west, to Elrond, who had already had so many that he loved taken from him... He honestly did not know if he could face doing so. And Celebrían, his beloved law-daughter in all but blood... she had never truly known loss, or grief, not such as would soon befall her when her daughter had to leave the Hither Shores forever. What effect would that parting have on her, she who was usually so fierce and passionate in her joy and her stubborness?

A small, naïve part of Maglor, that he had long thought gone from him, kept whispering that perhaps, just perhaps, these Maiar _would_  know a way to heal Arwen here in Middle-Earth. He knew it was unlikely to the point of impossible, but still the faint hope would not die.

 _If the worst happens, or more likely when it does_ , he thought grimly, _At least there are those in Valinor who will welcome Arwen. Ëarendil, Elwing, any of their fallen kin who may have been reborn, Finarfin and Eärwen, Nerdanel.._. Thinking of his mother's name made tears sting in his eyes. His exile from Aman still held, as it would for eternity. He had never seen aught to convince him otherwise. Losing Arwen to Valinor would pain him, but not half as much as it would her parents and brothers.

 _They will someday rejoin her though_. It would be small comfort during the long years without her, missing the rest of her childhood, Maglor knew, but if they had to part, it would not be the end for them. _Just for me._  But that was the fate he had brought upon himself, it was what he deserved for his numerous past sins, and he had no doubt that the tidings sent to him from the Valar were merely an affirmation of that. As long as his chosen family was safe, he would endure it, and gladly.

Well. The arrival of these messengers from the West would come to pass, and they would reveal what they would. There was no use dwelling upon it now. While he had become lost in thought, the twins had taken him by the arms, leading him from the library. Glorfindel had told them that Arwen was awake, but immobile, and they insisted upon seeing her, to see if she could 'speak' with them as she did her parents and Maglor, mind to mind.

Maglor kept quiet, trying to order his thoughts so that none of his worries seeped through to Elrond. As Elladan had said, it would do no good to trouble him with the eventual parting until it absolutely had to be dealt with.

For now, it was best to make the most of what time they all had left together, before Arwen and whoever decided to Sail with her were gone from Maglor's life forever.

* * *

 

**Elvish Translations:**

**Cirth: Runes used by the Sindar Elves, originally invented by Daeron of Doriath in the First Age.**

**Sinda: An Elf from the Sindar clan, the majority of whom were born in Middle-Earth and have never seen Valinor.**

**Fea: Soul, spirit.**

**Daerion: Grandson.**


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter is short.

Celebrían stood beside her daughter's bed, wringing her hands nervously, as the two beings who were clearly not Mortals, despite bearing the appearance of such, examined the elfling, their eyes half closed. In the end, only two of the five newly arrived from the West had travelled to Imladris, the other three having elected to journey elsewhere. Their visitors had introduced themselves as Mithrandir and Curunir, one clad in grey, one in white. Both appeared to be of advanced age in their physical forms, but the light in their eyes gave away their true nature- Celebrían now believed these were indeed Maiar, though they had admitted no such thing.

Curunir stood some distance from Arwen, his eyes hooded, one hand outstretched towards her. Mithrandir stood at Arwen's side, one hand clasping hers, the other resting upon her brow. Celebrían could not have said why, but he gave off a feeling of reassurance, far more so than his white-robed companion. Upon arrival, they had seemed already aware of what had happened to Arwen, and Mithrandir had requested to see her immediately. Curunir had spent some time questioning them all about the specifics of what had happened, how Arwen had managed to make contact with the Enemy, as if this matter were a study of some kind, with no urgency, but eventually, after several pointed comments from Elrond, Galadriel and Maglor, he had joined Mithrandir in actually attempting to rouse Arwen, to restore her movement. Celebrían prayed they would have some success. The alternative did not bear thinking about.

Mithrandir straightened slowly, exchanging a long look with Curunir, before slowly turning to face her and Elrond, who stood at her side, his hand braced upon her shoulder, his face taut, his eyes unreadable. To her relief, her sons were not in this room- they had wanted to be, but Glorfindel and Celeborn had ushered them out, after the twins had insisted on being the first to hear the Maiar's verdict on Arwen, after their parents.

Mithrandir's expression was sorrowful. Curunir's blank, unreadable. Celebrían's heart-rate picked up, and perspiration beaded on the back of her neck, as her husband's hand tightened upon her shoulder. A knot formed in her stomach, and she somehow knew already that she did not wish to hear the verdict of these beings concerning her daughter's recovery.

She found herself shaking her head as Mithrandir spoke, as his words sank in, then he and Curunir slipped from the room, giving them privacy. Tears pooled in her eyes then spilled down her cheeks. She wanted to scream, to rage, give voice to the denial surging through her, even if it would serve no purpose. She pulled away from her husband, refusing to even look at anyone besides her daughter, still motionless on her sickbed. 

Arwen, her youngest child, her _baby_... How could _sending her away_ , sending her to Valinor, never to return, leaving her to grow up among strangers, away from everyone and everything that she knew and loved, be the only way to save her? Yet, knowing that if she remained in Middle-Earth, she would simply wither and waste away, trapped in a body that would never move again, until she simply died... it was horrific. Unbearable. Celebrían fells to her knees, burying her face in Arwen's blankets, her voice rising as she keened and wept at the unfairness of this situation. No matter what, it seemed they were going to lose Arwen. Who would go with her, to care for her in her parents' place, for surely someone had to? She, in her heart, had no desire to leave Middle-Earth, for she had not yet wearied of it. Elrond would not go, not while Sauron remained undefeated, she knew that much. Her mother and Maglor were barred from returning to Valinor, her father had no wish to go there, and her sons were far too young. _As is Arwen_. Celebrían's throat tightened and it felt as if she were choking as sobs overcame her once more. When they did this, once Arwen had recovered and remembered what had happened, would she think they no longer wanted her? Would she hate them for sending her away? But if the other option was watching her die...

What cruel twist of fate would demand such a choice from the parents of an innocent child?

 

* * *

**Translations:**

**Curunir: Saruman**

**Mithrandir: Gandalf**

 


	23. Chapter 23

Silence reigned in the room after the two Maiar-in-mortal-guise had left, Mithrandir's words clinging to the gathered Elves like the shock that set in after a wound had been given, before the pain reared its head. It was broken only by Celebrian's muffled sobs, her face still pressed into the blankets on Arwen's bed.

Maglor could see Elrond closing himself off, shutting out his own pain and turmoil so he could be strong for everyone else as he moved to his wife's side, and Maglor stifled a sigh. His adoptive son had always done that, for as long as Maglor had known him, even when he had been but a child. Thousands of years of knowing Elrond, even raising him, had still not given Maglor a way to break that unhealthy habit.

Unsure of what to say, or even if he should say anything at all, Maglor glanced around- and started when he spied Mithrandir lingering just outside the door, his dark eyes locked on Maglor's own. Making a beckoning gesture with his head, he strode away, clearly expecting Maglor to follow.

Belatedly, the Feanorian recalled Glorfindel saying that these beings bore a message to him from the Valar. He had let it slip from his mind amid Arwen's problems, but now it seemed he was to hear the message, whether he wished it or not, for he found himself slipping from the room, following Mithrandir, despite his reluctance. He felt eyes on him as he departed, and caught Galadriel's gaze for a brief moment. As usual, her eyes were deep- and unreadable. Elladan and Elrohir, apparently having eluded Celeborn and Glorfindel's watch, slipped into Arwen's room, no doubt eager to hear what the Maiar had revealed. Maglor's heart sank, and he almost returned, to be there to comfort the young twins, to keep yet more weight from Elrond's shoulders-

' _Makalaurë._ ' Mithrandir's voice, speaking Maglor's Quenya name, sounded in his mind, invested with far more power than it did when he spoke aloud, and Maglor found himself following despite his misgivings. This message from the Valar, whatever it was, would be imparted quickly, however, he was determined on that, so he could return and comfort his son and his family as soon as possible.

Mithrandir strode down the hallway at a pace that suggested he was in a hurry. It was no bother for Maglor to keep up, but it annoyed him somewhat: could this message not be passed to him here and now, so he could return to his son's side and be there for him and his wife and children? He had no chance to voice this thought, however, as Mithrandir did not slow, nor glance his way, until they had reached the walled garden reserved only for Elrond and his family. Then and only then did the Maia turn to face Maglor, and, meeting that gaze once again, recognition washed over Maglor.

“Olorin.” The Maia's true name slipped from his mouth before he realized it.

Mithrandir- Olorin- smiled, his eyes twinkling. “Indeed. I am glad to see you have not forgotten all that you once knew, young Makalaurë.”

Maglor could have snorted. _Young?_ He had not truly been young for millennia, not since Alqualondë... Uncomfortable, he folded his arms, letting his face harden and decisively changing the subject. “I no longer go by my Quenya name as I am sure you know. My name is Maglor. And I assume this is about the message Glorfindel claimed you bore for me, from your masters?” His tone was harsh, but he cared not: the Valar surely had nothing good to say to him, so he would not feign joy at hearing from them, especially not in these circumstances.

A thick grey eyebrow rose. “So bitter... one might think you did not wish to hear from them.”

“And why should I? I am sure you know that we did not part on good terms.”

“Assuming you are correct, you do not care to amend that?”

Maglor gritted his teeth. “Is there some reason I should? I am not permitted to ever return to the Valar's realm, and I have made a life for myself here. I am as happy as I am ever likely to be, given my past sins. What good will resuming contact with the Valar do me now?”

“Not permitted to ever return?” Mithrandir's- Olorin's- eyes narrowed. “My boy, whoever gave you that idea? Were you and Maedhros not offered that very chance when Thangorodrim was cast down?”

Maglor winced at the reminder of that time, when he and his last surviving brother had been so blinded by their Oath. “That opportunity was forfeited when we stole the Silmarils.”

“Was it.” Mithrandir's words were not a question, but his expression had become somewhat stern. “What makes you think so? Were you told as much by my kinsman Eönwë?”

“I...” Unwillingly, Maglor cast his mind back to that dark time, so many centuries ago. Eönwë _had_ revoked their- his- right to return to Valinor, had he not? Galadriel, he knew, was barred from returning to Valinor for she did not truly regret leaving. He had always _assumed_ , in the Age-and-some since, that the same thing applied to him, but if it did not... _If it did not it makes no difference,_ he told himself firmly. _Elrond is here, his family- my family- are here. Imladris is my home now, for as long as I am welcome. No Elves in Valinor would welcome my presence, not after what I have done_.

Mithrandir folded his arms. “You what?”

“Even if I wished to return,” And he would not admit that part of him did, suppressing the image of his mother that flashed before his eyes and the surge of longing to see her once more that came with it, “I would not. My foster-son and his family will need me now more than ever, as Arwen will have to leave them. Think you that I wish to add to their grief by bereaving them of two members of their family at once?”

“A good argument, but have you considered that young Arwen cannot make the journey West alone?”

“Of course she cannot, but what has that to do with-”

“Do you believe that Elrond, Celebrían or their sons are weary enough of this world to leave it behind?”

Maglor's heart rate picked up and his eyes narrowed, old suspicions of the manipulations of the Valar- his father's beliefs- re-surging in his mind. He closed his eyes, trying to ignore the insidious whispers of memory. Fëanor had been wrong about almost everything: he would not allow the memory of his words to corrupt him more than had already been done. “Is this the message you were charged to bring to me, Olorin, or are these your own words?”

The Maia sighed. “You still have your father's willfulness. Lord Aule had hoped you would grow wiser than that.”

“And as ever, the servants of the Valar evade any questions put to them that they do not wish to answer.” Even as he spoke, Maglor wished to take the words back, for now even he could hear how much he sounded like Fëanor. He took several deep breaths to calm himself. _I am not my adar. I do not wish to be like him. Ever_. “I... I am sorry. I did not mean to sound... Emotions are running high at present, after all that has happened. Arwen-” Here his famed voice broke, recalling the spritely young Elfling that she had once been, and now might never be again. Even if she were to recover in Valinor, she would never again be the innocent child that she once was. Dealing with true Evil and Darkness changed you, forever.

Mithrandir's expression softened in sympathy. “You have not rested since her return, have you?”

“No more than any other of this family has. Until a decision is made on her future, I doubt any will.” _And what decision will that be? Which of Arwen's parents will  leave their home and their sons, and forsake Middle-Earth forever?_  Maglor knew that neither Elrond or Celebrían truly wished to do so, though they would for their daughter's sake, but his spirit warned that that was wrong, it was not yet their time to depart. But then...

It struck him then, all at once, as if he had always known the solution to the problem. He met Mithrandir's gaze, slowly. “You knew...” He spoke slowly, not completing the sentence aloud. “ _They_  knew. The Valar.”

Mithrandir's gaze remained steady. “Not the exact details of what would come to pass, or whom exactly would be involved in damaging the young Peredhel, else I assure you, this atrocity against the elfling _would_  have been prevented. But yes, they have long known that this might come to pass: Elrond's child would need to be placed in the care of Lord Irmo and Lady Este for a time, and if so, the message I was to bear was that you accompany the child, to begin the repentance you still wish to complete, and to ensure the child is not alone among strangers.” Mithrandir did not look away from him. “As ever, of course, it is left to you to accept or decline. You will not be compelled to do anything. But consider this: would Elrond, at least, not feel reassured knowing that his beloved foster-father has charge of his daughter when he cannot be with her?” He nodded firmly at Maglor's uncertain expression. “I will give you time to think on this.”

Maglor stood frozen in place, his mind reeling, as Mithrandir inclined his head, and left him alone with his thoughts.


	24. Chapter 24

Elrond felt as if he were watching himself from a great distance, his words echoing oddly in his mind as he informed his sons of what Mithrandir had told him. Their cries of grief and denial tore at his heart as much as Celebrían's intermittent weeping did. Why did he himself seem to feel nothing, to be so detached from this? Numb, he stepped away from his sons, letting Galadriel comfort them, as he gazed down at his awake-but-immobile daughter. Her eyes flickered to him, and he swallowed hard before letting his hand brush against hers; physical contact remained the only way she could speak, through osanwe.

 _'I have to sail west.'_  Her mental 'voice' was little more than a whisper, but Elrond could still detect nervousness in her tone. ' _I don't want to go alone, Ada.'_

' _You will not, iell nin._ ' He sounded as reassuring as he could. ' _Nana or I will come with you._ ' Something twisted within him though- in truth, he had no desire to leave Middle-Earth as yet, no more than Celebrían did. But Arwen was far too young to make that journey alone. Even if there were those in Valinor who had claim on her, as blood kin (Valar knew there were enough of them, given Elrond's complicated bloodline), they would still be strangers to her, knowing nothing of her, nor she of them. He could not entrust his only daughter to people he had never met! Out of habit, wishing for reassurance for himself, he turned towards where Maglor had stood, starting when he realized the elf who was his father in all but blood had left the room.

' _You and Nana don't want to leave, Ada._ ' Arwen's words drew his attention back to her. There was no doubt in her eyes: she spoke with the strange certainty that came upon her, and Elrond, at times, when another's thoughts were laid bare before them. _'I can't make you leave our home when you don't want to. I have caused enough trouble, and... I don't want you to be punished along with me.'_

 _'You will not be punished, iell nin.'_ Celebrían, unnoticed by Elrond, had taken Arwen's other hand, and joined in the silent conversation. ' _You did nothing except become entangled in the web of a being far too powerful and dangerous for you to understand. None will blame you for that.'_

Arwen was silent, her eyes fixed upon them, but Elrond could not tell if she believed her mother's words, or not. Celeborn slipped silently back into the room, to his wife's side. As if the movement had been orchestrated (and who knew, perhaps it had) he, Galadriel, Elladan and Elrohir moved closer, Galadriel's and Celeborn's enjoined hands resting on Arwen's brow, the twins' hands laying on their sister's shoulders. Words were not used, but a general sense of love, forgiveness and understanding grew and spread between them all. It dulled the pain of loss that had been keener than a blade, for now at least, and they remained as they were for some time, sharing in the swell of emotion, all trying to come to terms with what would happen in the coming days.

Elrond eventually released Arwen, taking Celebrían's hand in his own and gently urging her away from their daughter, communicating with his eyes that they needed to talk: a decision had to be made about which of them would sail with Arwen, for they could not both depart, and abandon Imladris and their sons.

Leading Celebrían into his own study, he met her green eyes for a long minute, then let out a heavy sigh. Parting from her, his wife, his beloved, would be the greatest wrench he had known since losing Elros, but he could see no alternative. Arwen would need one of the family with her.

Celebrían's voice shook as she spoke. “I assume you wish to make sure I will continue to manage Imladris as well as you have, once you are gone.” Tears glimmered in her eyes.

Elrond had to fight to keep his jaw from dropping. “What- no- I...” He had been about to say he would miss her when _she_  left with Arwen! “Celebrían, meleth, I intended to give you and Arwen my blessing and wish you both well in Valinor until we can reunite someday.”

She stared at him. “Elrond, you are far older than I. If either of us is better suited to travelling to our people's home, it is you. I do not...” She pressed her lips together, as if holding back the words.

Elrond guessed at them easily enough, however. “You have not wearied of this world, I know.” He sighed heavily. “Neither have I. And I do not wish to be parted from you. It is the last thing I desire." He pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her, burying his face in her silver tresses and breathing in the scent that was uniquely hers- vanilla shampoo, and the scent of woods in springtime, fresh and lovely. How could he part from the other half of his fea, his wife, so soon? "But Arwen _must_  have someone go with her.”

They stared at one another hopelessly, neither having a solution to this problem. A soft knock at the still-open door interrupted them, and Elrond spoke without turning, his peculiar extra senses, abilities he shared with Arwen, that had been partly responsible for all this horror, letting him know who stood outside. “Come in, Maglor.”

The older elf stepped in silently, a pensive frown on his face. “I could have guessed what the two of you are debating, even if I had not overheard your conversation.” He twisted his hands nervously, not quite looking at either of them. “It... Mithrandir just told me something, and I may have a solution, if either of you would trust me with Arwen...” He explained, haltingly, what Mithrandir had said, the offer the Maia had made.

Elrond stood stock-still for a moment, feeling brittle, as if one more shock would shatter him completely. Celebrían now had tears running down her face, but she also looked... relieved, in a way. She caught Elrond's hands in her own, a fierce, blazing look in her eyes, as she spoke directly to his mind. ' _Elrond, beloved, this may be the best choice we have. Your father finally gets to journey home and earn forgiveness, and Arwen will be safe, in the care of one of our family. What more could we ask for in a situation such as this?'_

Elrond blinked slowly, accepting her words. He swallowed hard before turning to Maglor. “I will grieve your loss as much as Arwen's, Adar, but I admit that it eases my heart, knowing that you will be there to raise Arwen with as much love and care as you once gave my brother and I.” Not to mention, he knew full well that deep down, Maglor _wanted_  to return home, to make amends to those he had wronged, those left behind, those who had survived, and any that had been reborn. He was too proud to admit such a thing for his own sake. The situation with Arwen, grievous as it was, gave Maglor a chance at his own healing as well.

Now Maglor was blinking back tears as he nodded. “I am honored.” His beautiful voice cracked, and he pulled both Elrond and Celebrían into an embrace. “And I...” He took a deep breath. “I give you my word- my _oath_ \- that I will love Arwen as my own child. I will see her healed, and raise her well until the day comes that the two of you come West to reclaim her.” His voice was as serious and formal as Elrond had ever heard, and judging by Celebrían's expression, the solemnity and utter sincerity of Maglor's words stunned her too.

Elrond was reeling inwardly upon hearing his foster-father give an oath on this matter, as Maglor had never, not once since the First Age, given his word as binding for any reason, and he certainly had never used the word 'Oath'! That he did so now conveyed just how serious he was about this, for he hated the word 'oath' and all it entailed. _At least I can state with certainty that he will keep his word. He has never failed to uphold any oath he gives._  The thought was somewhat bitter, yet still comforting to Elrond, as he let himself relax in his foster-father's embrace, clinging to him and to Celebrían. His wife spoke softly, speaking only to Maglor. "We thank you for your love and dedication to our family, as ever, but an oath is not required from you again. Perhaps call it a promise instead."

Maglor looked relieved, nodding at her words. He held them both close, all three of them giving and receiving comfort from each other, all knowing that their time together now was limited and dwindling. Arwen would need to set forth for the Havens, and then journey by ship to Valinor, departing Imladris in a matter of days. “We will remember you, and our lives here, always. We will be waiting for you in Valinor. For however many years it takes until you join us.”

* * *

**Elvish Translations:**

**Iell nin: My daughter (literally, 'daughter mine'.)**

**Meleth: Beloved.**


	25. Chapter 25

Arwen closed her eyes, then opened them again, her only way of doing _anything_ now, it seemed, as the carriage she was in rolled and jerked over the road. Someone, her adar, she assumed, had carried her from the House after Nana had gently washed her and dressed her in a gown suited for travelling, a deep green wool dress with trailing sleeves and a golden belt. (Nana had, tearfully, packed all of her clothes and belongings, and given her a choice of dresses for her trip to the Havens, having Arwen blink at the one she wished to wear.) She and Ada were inside the carriage with her, seated on either side of the padded bench Arwen had been laid on. Soft straps of linen were loosely tied around Arwen's useless arms and legs, to prevent her from being tossed to the floor by the sway of the carriage's movements. The space inside was small, the air close and pressing, and yet a blanket had been placed over Arwen, leaving her far too hot. Ada's eyes were half closed, and he looked weary. Not wishing to disturb his rest, she flicked her eyes towards Nana, and began a slow repetitive blink, hoping to catch her mother's attention.

Luckily, Nana noticed in less than a minute. “Arwen? What is wrong?” She leaned forward, pressing a hand to Arwen's face. As had happened since she had woken back at home, Arwen found that physical contact made someone feel 'closer', allowing her to speak into their minds, although it tired her more and more to do so.

 _'Too... hot... Nana_.'

Nana immediately folded the blanket back somewhat, allowing slightly cooler air to reach her, but not removing it completely. Arwen would have screamed if she could, and kicked the accursed blanket off, but such things were beyond her now. It had been so frightening to wake up at home, after... everything (she wasn't certain what had been real, and what had been a dream), to find her family surrounding her, safe and well, but that she could do _nothing_ except make the tiniest movements with her eyes. Being able to speak through osanwe helped, but not being able to move was so frustrating- _everything_  had to be done for her, and that wasn't fair on her parents or her brothers or her grandparents- she was not an infant, she should not be such a burden on them! Especially not since, really, her condition was her own fault.

Why had she ever been so stupid as to listen to M- _him_? A chill ran through her at just the thought, and she would have trembled if she could. A wave of lethargy washed over her, and out of habit these days, she did her best to look towards the small lantern giving light to the carriage's interior- the vehicle had no windows, and she would _not_ sleep in the darkness. Not ever again. Darkness was _his_  domain, and she would never ever risk encountering him again.

Trying to distract herself, she listened hard. Outside, she could hear hoofbeats- Elladan and Elrohir, Glorfindel, Daerada Maglor, Daeradar Celeborn and Daernaneth rode alongside them, she remembered, drowsily, one of them driving the mare that pulled the sole wagon they'd packed and brought along, that carried all Daerada Maglor's, and her own, belongings (though to Arwen's slight dismay it had been decided that her puppy would remain behind, she reasoned that it would be for the best- such a young animal would not do well on a sea voyage, she could not tend to it in her state, and Elladan and Elrohir had promised they would take care of the pup for her, something tangible to remember her by.) They'd all set out together for the journey to the Havens, so that she and Daerada Maglor could say their goodbyes before boarding the ship that would bear them to Valinor. She was glad, at least, that Daerada was going West with her, though her parents and brothers couldn't, yet. She did not want to leave her whole family behind and live with complete strangers... Nana was stroking her hair now, and humming softly, the tune a familiar lullaby. Sleep engulfed her, and she knew no more of the journey.

* * *

The next time she awoke, it was to the sound of the carriage door opening, and cooler, salty-smelling air rushing in as Nana climbed down. Ada, awake, if not looking any less tired, bent over her, removing the blanket and deftly untying the straps that had kept her safe on the journey, before carefully lifting her in his arms. Again, Arwen would have given anything- almost anything- to be able to help, to not be such a nuisance to her family in her state, but she was powerless.

Ada kept her as steady as possible as he handed her over to Daerada Maglor, who stepped back so Ada could jump down from the carriage, but Arwen barely noticed: the sunlight was harsh, searing her eyes, and the air was riven with plaintive wailing and screeching, but move her eyes as she might, she could not discern what made the sound, until a wheeling shadow fell over her face, then another, and another. Birds! She realized at last. But what manner of bird made such an unceasing, melancholy ruckus?

“Are seagulls always this... raucous?” Daeradar Celeborn's voice came from somewhere to her left, but out of her line of sight.

“Yes.” The reply came from three voices, from Daerada Maglor, who still held her, from Daernaneth, whom Arwen could not see, and from an unfamiliar male voice, as an older, bearded ellon strode forward, greeting Ada, before turning to face Daerada Maglor- and Arwen herself. Daerada and the strange ellon spoke quietly, in low tones, too softly for her to understand their words, but she could feel Daerada Maglor nodding. She knew, from tales her ada had told, that this was Cirdan the Shipwright, one of the oldest Elves remaining in Middle-Earth. She would have stared openly if she could, amazed to finally see the Elf who ruled the Havens, who had walked the world when the Elves first awoke. (And quite possibly reached for his beard to see how it felt, as no Elves that she knew had one.) But, again, she could do nothing except look at his shoulders, the only part of him in her current line of sight. Bitterness welled in her- to not be able to move even a _finger_...

Thudding, grunts and muttered complaints distracted her, and she realized that Glorfindel and her brothers had to be unloading the wagon that held her possessions, and Daerada's, so they could be placed in the... on the... wherever belongings were stowed on board a ship, she didn't know, never having been on one.

The wailing of the seagulls continued unabated, and, under their 'song', she could hear the faint swish, swish, that she guessed was the waves upon the shore. Suddenly, the thought of leaving behind everything and (almost) everyone she knew seemed very real, and a cold knot of fear twisted in her stomach. Nana and Ada had said that what had happened with M- with _him_ was not her fault, and she would not be punished, but what if the Elves who ruled in Valinor thought otherwise? Her parents _had_  to be kind to her, after all, didn't they? What would Elves that had never met her think of what she had done? Arwen knew she had to go to Valinor, to the gardens of Lorien, that belonged to the Vala Irmo, if she was ever going to be able to move again, the Maia calling himself Mithrandir, who was really named Olorin, had told her that, mind to mind, and she accepted that, but now... Now it was really happening, she was scared. She knew Ada and Nana couldn't come with her, but she wanted to cry, would have begged them to do so if she could.

* * *

She had to have drifted back into sleep for a time, because the next thing she knew, she was being laid down again, on a soft surface of some kind, and the ground felt... off. Swaying and rolling gently, almost. She must already be on the ship, she realized. Daerada Maglor had told her that waves made the ship roll. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see him standing next to whatever she lay upon, and, slowly, her other grandparents approached, hand in hand, both kneeling before her, telling her they loved her and would miss her, but this was not goodbye forever, they would be together again someday. Both pressed kisses to her brow before exchanging a few words with Daerada Maglor (Daernaneth hugged him), then they stepped away.

Glorfindel came next, saying much the same, to her and to Daerada, though he attempted to give her a gentle embrace before stepping aside.

Elladan and Elrohir knelt at her side next, and she could see tears in both their eyes. Their hands were clasped tightly together as they spoke of Valinor as if it were some big adventure, suggesting mischief she could get up to on their behalf once she was well. They each kissed her cheek before moving away.

Arwen wished she had not seen their faces crumple with tears before they moved where she could not see them.

And then, Ada and Nana were there, walking towards her. Tears burned Arwen's eyes and ran down her cheeks before they even spoke. She blinked hard and fast, trying to stop them- she didn't want her parents' last memory of her to be her weeping!

A warm hand, rough with old scarring, gently wiped her tears away, and suddenly Daerada was looking at her, kindness and understanding on his face as he whispered to her. “It will be hard to leave them, I know. But they need you to be strong now. Remember, this is not goodbye, just see you later.”

Arwen blinked her understanding, and with a huge effort, ceased crying. Her parents were kneeling before her, pain clear in both their faces, but they were trying to smile, for her sake. They were being brave, so she could be too.

Nana's hand cupped her face, her eyes intent, as if she meant to memorize what Arwen looked like, as indeed Arwen herself tried to sear her mother's face into her memory, so she would not forget one detail of her. Nana's green eyes swam with tears. “Be a good girl for your Daerada, won't you, Undómiel?”

Arwen wanted to nod, but of course had to settle for a blink, hoping Nana understood that meant yes. She never intended to do anything wrong, or hide anything from an adult, ever again! Not after all that had happened. If she did get better, she was going to be the most well-behaved elfling ever.

Nana turned away for a moment, pressing her face to Ada's shoulder. He stared down at Arwen, his eyes full of emotion, enough that it was almost tangible to her- love, pain, sadness, guilt, resignation... She wanted to reach out with her mind, to soothe him, make him feel better, but she hadn't the strength- trying to do so made everything go fuzzy, and when her vision cleared, she felt exhausted again. Ada's hand was resting against her cheek now, his fingers sliding through her hair, tucking it back behind her ear. “This is not a goodbye, iell nin. It is the start of a new adventure for our family. You and Daerada are going to take care of each other until we join you, make a home for us in a new land.” He tried to smile. “You might even find another valley like Rivendell, and build a similar place, have it ready for us when we get there.” He swallowed hard, and his free arm slid round Nana's shoulders, holding her close. “Nana and I love you so, so much, Arwen, and we will think of you every day until we can be together again.”

Nana nodded, agreeing with his words, but her face twisted, as if she would weep. She kissed Arwen's forehead, taking some minutes before stepping away, then Ada did the same.

During those seconds of skin contact, Arwen made a huge effort. _'Love you... Nana... Ada... tell... Dan and Ro, and Daeradar and Daernaneth... too. I won't... forget.... any... of you...'_  She struggled to breathe for a moment after sending such a long sentence through osanwe, but hopefully they had heard her.

Nana made a strange noise, muffled by a hand over her mouth, but she nodded at Arwen before whirling around, moving quickly to stand with Elladan and Elrohir, clinging to them, from what little Arwen could see.

Ada was speaking to Daerada in Quenya, too fast for her to translate, then they shared a tight hug for several minutes, before Daerada stepped back, tucking a strand of Ada's hair back, as Ada had not long since tidied Arwen's.

“I could not bear this if I had not had your promise that you would take care of her, Adar.” Ada's last words were barely audible, and obviously meant for Daerada. “There is no-one in the West I would trust to raise one of my children. I know you will keep her safe, and keep the memory of us alive.”

“For as many Ages as it takes until our family reunites, ion nin.” Daerada Maglor inclined his head formally, moving to grasp Arwen's hand in his, squeezing it as if in comfort, not taking his eyes from Ada as he, and Nana, Elladan and Elrohir, Glorfindel, Daernaneth and Daeradar- almost all the family Arwen had ever known- each pressed one last kiss of farewell to her and to Daerada, before slowly walking off the ship and out of sight.

Other Elves, strangers, now climbed aboard, all keeping their distance from Arwen and Daerada. She thought they might be sailors, as they were all busy doing... things, and calling out to one another as the ship's rocking motion increased.

Her heart pounded- had they already left the Havens? She wanted one last look at her family all together, even if they were standing on a dock watching her leave! She began blinking rapidly, praying that Daerada would understand what she wanted.

Thankfully, it seemed he did, for he lifted her with ease, holding her so that her head rested against his shoulder, but she could stare back at the receding shore, and just make out her family: Ada and Nana, holding hands, the twins on either side of them; Glorfindel, a gleam of gold to the left of them all, and Daeradar and Daernaneth, silver-and-gold blurs standing just to the right. Arwen's memory filled in the details of their faces, now too far to make out, as the current bore the ship further out to Sea, and she vowed she would hold this image in her mind until the far-off day that they would all be together once more.

Once the eastern shore was out of sight, Arwen let her mind drift, wondering how long the journey took, and what the Gardens of Lorien, where she was meant to be going, would be like. She knew that Valinor was home to many Elves who had survived the First Age, or been reborn, as well as many who had never seen Middle-Earth. A whole new place, full of people she had never met, who knew nothing about her old home... Daerada had once lived there, though, so he would be able to tell her more about this new place she was going to live, surely?

Still in his arms, she sent one last thought to him, before the now ever-present tiredness claimed her once again. _I am glad you'll be with me to show me around your old home, Daerada._

Lulled by the sound of his heartbeat, and the ship's rocking, she began to drift back to sleep once again. She thought Daerada might have sighed sadly, and something dripped into her hair, like a tear, but she dismissed it- he was going home! Obviously, he would miss Ada and everyone, but why would he be weeping about returning to his original home? She surely had imagined that part.

It was as Ada had said: this was a new adventure for their family. She and Daerada would be together, building a new home in Valinor, and meeting new family and friends (or meeting old ones in Daerada's case) while waiting for the rest of the family to join them. (And there were no evil creatures in Valinor that would do her harm either. She would be safe there, far from M- any such dangers, so she would not even think about that any more. It was over.) As soon as she was well again, healthy enough to leave the Gardens of Lorien, life in Valinor would be as close to perfect as it could be while they waited to see their family once more.

**The End (for now.)**

* * *

  
_**Elvish Translations:** _

_**Iell nin: my daughter (literally 'daughter mine'.)** _

_**Ion nin: my son (literally 'son mine.')** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is the final chapter of this story (I hope everyone who read it enjoyed it!) There will be a sequel about Arwen and Maglor's 'adventures' in Valinor, as soon as I get round to writing it, but I will also be introducing an OC who will play a sizeable part in the story. Hopefully no-one will hate my character: I promise it isn't a self-insert!
> 
> If anyone is interested, this is the dress Arwen is wearing in this chapter:  
> https://wanelo.co/p/4655540/celtic-princess-green-wool-costume-medieval-dress


End file.
